


peach blossoms

by eyeronicmuch



Series: flowers & dystopias [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Future, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Lots of kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 10:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20044306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeronicmuch/pseuds/eyeronicmuch
Summary: Doyoung lives to obey orders, to be a good citizen and to follow the System and Jaehyun is the exact opposite. Somehow, in the depths of the Lower Level of the city, they click.





	peach blossoms

**Author's Note:**

> for isabel, my partner in crime and number 1 clown

Doyoung takes his time adjusting the settings of his apartment. It’s winter – he assumes – so he changes the view of his window to a snowy background. With another tap a hologram of a fireplace appears in the wall of his little living room, decorated with stockings. Another tap, and a Christmas tree appears. It looks almost real. Too real, in fact. Doyoung wants to open his windows and smell the cold air and touch the falling snowflakes, but once he does, the hologram fades and he comes face to face with grey coming from the neighbouring building. He sighs.

Doyoung has never experienced snow, nor winter, nor has he ever seen a tree. No one he’s ever known has. Doyoung turns up the heating. It feels warm. It’s supposed to feel warm, at least. Doyoung doesn’t think he’s ever felt warmth. The holographic clock signals that it’s time for bed. Doyoung doesn’t feel tired, but he obeys. He washes his face three times and brushes his teeth for exactly two minutes. The clock signals soundlessly again that it’s time for bed just when Doyoung buries himself under the covers.

It’s so unnervingly quiet.

There’s not a single living soul outside. Not a single sound, despite cars and shuttles racing on the highways that lead somewhere upwards into space – all of them have soundless engines. Doyoung closes his eyes and falls asleep by eleven in the evening. He doesn’t dream. 

He wakes up to the same snowy hologram he set yesterday. Doyoung changes the settings to a rising Sun, making artificial lights pierce through the room. They’re cold and too pale for sun rays, but Doyoung doesn’t give it a second thought. He doesn’t see the Sun much anyway.

The sky is a constant grey, which is more depressing than it should be. Doyoung was told that the sky was once colourful – orange and yellow in the mornings, blue during the day, red, pink and purple at evenings, pitch black at night. Doyoung finds it hardly believable. He can’t imagine the sky having any colour besides a dull grey or deathly black. 

His walk to work is quiet, too. It’s rush hour; people are cramped into metro shuttles and rocket buses, all soundless. If there is chattering, it’s barely a whisper. Doyoung notices a woman wearing all black, her child wearing all black too. Doyoung is wearing monochrome himself, too. His black hair is gelled neatly parted in the middle, his suit is made of the finest materials, even though they’re 50% synthetic. His holographic watch complements his faux leather boots and faux leather briefcase. He’s proper. He was brought up to be proper. To follow the System.

Doyoung does as he’s told.

Doyoung’s job is mundane but stable. Secure. It pays him well and he can afford a rather luxurious apartment in the centre of the city with all of its novelties. Although after centuries ‘luxury’ gained a whole another meaning – no poshness or antique furniture – luxury was space. Doyoung owns the most basic condo to ever exist, however its worth is measured in meters cubed, which is indeed a luxury in such an overpopulated city. It’s located on the forty-eighth floor of his fifty-floor building, which the normal height of buildings in his country. 

Everything is identical – buildings, clothes, the cubicles at Doyoung’s workplace. Doyoung is on time, as usual, at quarter to nine, at his desk ready to skim over reports his boss sent to him via the computer. There’s a low buzzing of his colleagues talking over the phone, quiet, so as not to disturb anyone, and Doyoung likes the sound. He’s always thought the city was too quiet. 

He spends precisely three hours and thirty-six minutes and forty seconds on his reports before he allows himself to get distracted. There’s a presence by his side – it’s his colleague, Johnny. Johnny gives him a polite smile and bows lightly.

“Good day, Doyoung.”

“Likewise.”

“Good weather today, isn’t it?”

Doyoung hums. “The sky certainly isn’t as grey so, yes, I suppose it is.”

Johnny emits a sound that’s close to laughter, but not quite. Doyoung mirrors his actions out of politeness. 

“Certainly. Believe it or not, there’s not a single cloud in the sky.” Johnny’s workspace is as neat and tidy as Doyoung’s is. There are no unnecessary objects on it besides a pen, simply because there’s no need for them. Doyoung types an order on his newest computer and shortly a mechanic robot takes away his reports, giving Doyoung new tasks from his boss. It’s an endless cycle of getting reports and handing them in, but it’s what Doyoung knows what to do. The only thing Doyoung knows what to do. 

“Say, Doyoung,” Johnny attempts at small talk again, “have you heard of the event that’s happening next Saturday at the Hall?”

“I have,” Doyoung nods. “Two hundred years since the nuclear war. It’s quite the event.”

“Are you going? I overheard the Party’s leaders will be giving speeches. Oh, and the parade.”

“Of course I’m going. Are you?”

Johnny takes a second too long to answer. Doyoung was counting. “Yeah. I’ll see you there.” Conversation dies on that note. 

Doyoung finishes his work at five fifty-four without taking any breaks and waits six minutes to leave his cubicle. Doyoung doesn’t feel much, but he does feel the soreness in his muscles and how tense his shoulders are from the days he spends hunched over his desk doing basic electronic work. He makes a mental note to prepare himself a bath once he gets home, preferably with bubbles and with extra warm water. He sends his apartment a signal and gets a message back that the water is already running.

He counts fifteen buildings before he makes two turns to the left and one to the right to his block-looking one. Everything is identical, like a mirror, and only muscle memory allows Doyoung to never miss his turns. Doyoung slips into the bathtub and feels himself relax after twelve minutes of the hot water almost burning him. Skin a blooming red, he brushes his teeth for exactly two minutes and splashes water over his face three times and sits at the right side of the bed. The virtual clock signals that it’s time for sleep. Doyoung falls asleep after he’s counted to one hundred in silence. He doesn’t dream.

Routine is a constant in Doyoung’s life. In a sense, it’s part of him, and Doyoung is a part of it. They’re one. Doyoung finds peace in sticking to it, it feels comfortable and secure, in a way, and so he doesn’t break it. There’s no need to. Except this Saturday. This Saturday is a special occasion – a milestone that is a constant reminder of their ancestors’ past, of their repetitive and childish mistakes. However, it is also a glorious event with a magnificent parade that Doyoung watches every year. 

“You see, Doyoungie,” his father had told him when he was a little child, “the parade shows us the significance of our country, it’s our pride, worth, and most importantly, it’s a statement. We won, Doyoungie, despite the nuclear war, we still won. Remember to watch the parade every year, for our country, for me. It’s our victory, after all.”

Doyoung rises at seven to get ready, puts on a black and red ribbon to show his respect, and heads out. His father’s words replay in his head like a broken cassette. Doyoung doesn’t feel any pride in his country nor does he feel anything, if he were to be honest. The war wasn’t his, nor his father’s, and the victory wasn’t his either. The war happened two hundred years ago and it wasn’t even a war, considering it was just one atomic blast that wiped out half of the population, but Doyoung is a good citizen and he follows the System, so without fail he shows up at the Hall at ten and listens to the Party.

He notices Johnny a couple of meters away from him, and sees Taeyong too. Doyoung considers Taeyong an acquaintance. He doesn’t go further than that with anyone. Taeyong’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes but he smiles nonetheless. 

“You’re on time, as always.” He says. His voice is quiet and tired, there are eye bags under his eyes and his posture looks a bit weak and fragile, probably from exhaustion, but Doyoung doesn’t comment on his appearance. They’re merely acquaintances, after all. 

“And you’re early, also as always.” Doyoung replies. 

The Party’s head, a half human half robot makes an appearance. He’s old and with a moustache and bushy eyebrows, and looks with a stern gaze at the public. One of his eyes is artificial, as well as his right leg right up to his knee. Doyoung knows that he’s been alive for over two centuries – a survivor of the war turned half artificial; the man was almost immortal. 

“Today,” his voice resonates throughout the entire Hall, “we’ve gathered here to celebrate a very important day.” The crowd erupts in a deafening round of applause. Doyoung claps out of order. It’s the most sound he’s heard in weeks. “As you all know, the nuclear war has impacted the Earth in many different ways – the biggest of them all being death. Nature had suffered, the Earth’s inhabitants had suffered, everyone had suffered. 

“Two hundred years have past since Earth turned almost uninhabitable, if not for the System! The System’s advanced technologies and its novelties allowed us to survive the cold barren days where humans lived without food or water under the the Sun’s deadly rays. Skies were green and full with acid and the ground was black, death right around the corner. We were almost doomed, but then, out of desperation, the greatest minds from all over the world came together to think of a system that would prevent all crimes, wars, and everything negative, a system that wouldn’t allow the future to repeat the past, and thus the System was created. 

“Since it has been implemented, there have been no crimes, no wars, no casualties. Death rate has lowered significantly and life expectancy has only grown. To that; I can say only one thing: all hail technology! All hail the System!”

The crows booms and booms and chants and chants the word alike a mantra.

“All hail technology! All hail the System!”

Doyoung looks over at Taeyong. Taeyong has an unreadable expression on his face – it isn’t exactly blank, somewhat laced with pride and maybe gratitude, and he’s chanting the words along with the crowd, and for some reason, Doyoung finds himself saying them too. 

“All hail technology! All hail the System!”

Doyoung feels a wave of something foreign wash over him – his chest bubbles with something unknown, and it’s not unpleasant, but still weird nonetheless. Doyoung doesn’t feel unless he needs to, and in this case he doesn’t know how to feel so the System tells him how. Prideful. Proud. Unconsciously, Doyoung’s hands rise high and higher and before he knows it, he claps, loudly, in the midst of the sea of deafening applauses. 

The parade flaunts its progressive technologies – rockets that travel to other galaxies, microscopes that are able to see molecules, cloning machines – for an hour and seventeen minutes, Doyoung takes notice. He also takes notice of how every year more things are being invented, machines and robotics he doesn’t know the name of, the functions of which he doesn’t understand; he can’t seem to catch up with the competition. With what are they competing with, exactly, anyway? 

No one knows much about the System, especially not Doyoung. All he’s aware of is that it’s godly, and has a handful of worshippers that praise it for all of the things it’s done for humanity and all the good it brought upon the world. Quite literally, it rebuilt the Earth – humanity included – and started everything over, as if the old Earth exploded into millions of particles and a new one replaced it, only it’s still the same old planet, only reconstructed and changed.

Doyoung was taught that there’s a higher being that created life. People of the past called it God, people of the present refer to it as the System. Doyoung doesn’t think much about the creator of their existence, doesn’t attend Taeyong’s controversial debates about how the System isn’t God and how God isn’t the System, partially because he doesn’t want to get in trouble, mainly because he doesn’t care. It’s not a routine Doyoung can call his own, so he refrains from butting in. Breaking the rules is absolutely outrageous and intolerable, and for Doyoung, breaking his routine is just that.

That doesn’t stop Taeyong from messing with his mind, though.

“Look, I understand that the System recreated life so it makes sense for citizens to call it God, but it didn’t _create_ life, it only saved it, from extinction, from humans. The System didn’t create the universe or me and you, so, you know what I mean?”

“No.” Doyoung deadpans. He isn’t sure he understands what Taeyong is going on about. Doyoung will call the System what it should be called, because he is a good citizen that follows Orders. If the System must be called God, then so Doyoung will oblige. 

“But what if there’s no Creator?” Johnny pipes in. Doyoung doesn’t say anything in contrast to Taeyong’s wails of protest, eyeing Johnny’s hair instead. It’s not black. A dark dark brown, but not black. Doyoung feels nervous all of a sudden. Each citizen is supposed to have black hair. Hair dye is both rare and on top of that, illegal. No one should stand out and everyone should blend in. Doyoung counts to ten. Taeyong and Johnny are still conversing on a topic Doyoung doesn’t give a damn, and oh, he has to leave in two minutes twenty seconds. 

“What do you mean life created itself? That’s impossible!”

“Excuse me, um,” Doyoung speaks up, “It’s two in the afternoon now, so I must take my leave.”

He leaves with a wave of a hand and a polite smile that looks less genuine than the one Johnny and Taeyong send him. Doyoung starts thinking. Were Taeyong’s lips curled upwards and his eyes shining because he was feeling something himself or because the System told him to feel that? Were Johnny’s expressions real or were they the System’s doing? Was Doyoung thinking because he’s curious, confused, lost, or because the System told him to think? 

Either way, Taeyong and Johnny are too open and too loud with their thoughts, too expressive and emotional in his closed off society, which puts them in open danger, and Doyoung thinks whether he should warn them for their safety or stay away from them for his. He’s a good citizen, so what should he do? Preferably report suspicious behaviour to the Party, but he’s also their acquaintance, even though Taeyong calls him a friend, so Doyoung stays shut. 

Doyoung steps into his apartment. He can’t call it a home, no matter how hard he tries. The apartment is plain, there are no projections of memories Doyoung holds close to his heart, no signs of it being lived in except the crease in Doyoung’s mattress and the used toothbrush. Doyoung’s robot assistant takes off his heavy coat for him, undoes his shoe laces and offers dinner. Doyoung munches on his canned food, deep in thoughts.

The hologram on the window shows that’s it’s raining, with sound effects and all. Doyoung doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen water fall from the sky. It was a miracle, an actual miracle, but the Party called it a mistake, and that such errors can’t happen again. Head hurting from all of the thinking he’s done, Doyoung takes two repressants. He stops thinking instantly when he lies on his bed, thoughts washed away down the drain without a trace, as if they never were present in the first place. When he falls asleep, he doesn’t dream. 

“Mr. Kim,” a robotic voice declares, “please come over to Mr. Moon’s office by two.”

Doyoung nods, even though the robot doesn’t comprehend such gestures. The robot squeaks a little as it rolls away and Doyoung watches the way the fluorescent lights hit its metal carcass almost blindingly. He’s a little too entranced. As his holographic watch shows two he leaves his cubicle towards the elevator, bowing to Johnny and other colleagues. 

Mr. Moon’s office is twenty floors up the elevator. It’s so fast it’s almost like a teleport and Doyoung gets up there in barely a second. He’s alone on the floor, alone with humongous spacious windows that show a hologram of a heavenly city landscape that is certainly fake. Doyoung wonders what is the actual view outside of the window – if there is one after all. Probably not. 

The doors themselves unlock and slide to the sides to let Doyoung come into an office with even more windows and more holograms. The office is ‘built’ in an antique way – bricks, wallpapers, wooden floors. They’re all projections. Mr. Moon’s smile is as sickeningly fake as the interior as he greets Doyoung with a request Doyoung can’t deny doing. 

“Mr. Kim,” his voice monotonous yet uplifting, “please, sit down.” He gestures to a projection of a posh armchair. Doyoung sits down and feels rock solid hardness; he wishes reality wasn’t so hard. 

“Mr. Moon.” He greets. “Good day.”

“Good day.” His boss says back. It’s a greeting everyone in the city uses, despite not knowing the exact deduction of what good is – it’s left up to their interpretation. To some, a good day is a when the metro shuttle isn’t overcrowded, to some it’s when the cafeteria robot accidentally gives you a bigger portion of canned lunch, and to Doyoung? He doesn’t really know.

“Is something the matter?”

“Not quite, but yes. We’ve come across some problems regarding the Lower Level and as our most trusted employee I want to ask you to go down there and sort things out.”

“What’s the problem, exactly?”

“Well, firstly the technology there isn’t as advanced and you know, that doesn’t reflect well on our city’s reputation. A smart city is composed of human capital, without digital technology, the use of artificial intelligence, the ability to analyse large amounts of data, it is impossible to manage big cities, especially a huge megapolis like ours, these days, and because of the Lower Level’s and the Higher Level’s difference in development, we are struggling to keep track of what’s going on down there. And when you lose control, chaos, crime, fights ensue. They must never happen. It goes against the System. So Doyoung, do me a favour, will you?”

“Of course, sir.”

An assistant robot leads Doyoung out of the room with digital instructions, and as always, Doyoung wishes elevator rides weren’t as dizzying. 

“Heading out?” Johnny asks as Doyoung swipes the panel of his cubicles to get it cleaned up. There’s no mess, Doyoung is anything but a messy person, but it’s part of Doyoung’s routine. 

“Mmhm,” Doyoung hums, “Lower Level.”

Johnny’s eyes widen in a cat-like manner. “Be careful.”

“I always am, you know me.”

The Lower Level is a pretty unreachable place. Located at the bottom of the city, it’s considered a place for the outcasts. The Errored. Doyoung has heard about them, but only a little. They’re a taboo topic and remain unspoken of, but Taeyong has a mouth with a small filter so whatever forbidden information he brings up, Doyoung hears.

“Never talk to an Errored,” was what his father always told him, and Doyoung obeyed. He always obeyed.

Doyoung buys a ticket to the Lower Level with one tap of his watch that projects a screen with the confirmation of the transaction. Three-hundred notes. It’s not expensive, but not cheap either. People of the Higher Level can afford to go downstairs, but people of the Lower’s can’t go up. 

The ride is calm. There’s calming silence save for the soft buzzing of the engines of the shuttle and the little whistling of the conductor. He’s the only passenger. Doyoung feels calm. At least, that’s what he tells himself. 

_“Reach the Level, look for the main station, search for the panel control, note what kind of tech is lacking in the area, and don’t look behind you, you don’t know what danger there is. Don’t look anywhere else. After that, go straight to the shuttle. It flies between levels every thirty minutes. If you work fast, you’ll be done in twenty two.”_

Doyoung looks out of the window of the shuttle. He sees only black; they’re in a horizontal tunnel, and when they emerge from it, the grey sky greets him. It’s almost sad. 

“And we’re here.” The conductor, a tall skinny man says. His uniform is clean and ironed, and he has a red-and-black ribbon attached the pocket of his cardigan, a clear sign that the man’s a follower of the Party.

“Be careful, young man. Good day.”

“Good day.”

Doyoung has never personally been to the Lower Level of the city, not many people have, however the things he’s heard about it flies off the chart. But somehow, it’s nothing like Doyoung expected. The roads are clean, everything looks civilised, pretty much normal, Doyoung wouldn’t have guessed that it’s a hotspot for criminals. But the more he looks, the more he’s afraid. The Level is bursting with colours that Doyoung has been seen before – cars, buildings, people – they’re all colourful. Clothes, hair, tattoos, all forbidden, all like paintings. They’re all vivid, all bright, it’s overwhelming and magnificent at the same time – a huge contrast from Doyoung’s grey suit, snow white skin and black shoes. He feels transparent almost. 

It’s beautiful, in a way, but it’s extremely wrong. Colours are unnecessary, they only affect your mind in the wrong ways, he was told, they’re used for standing out and you’re supposed to blend in, he was told to believe, and yet Doyoung can’t help but think that he stepped out of a black-and-white movie, like the ones that were played centuries ago. 

It’s uncomfortable. He feels extremely out of place – people look at him, watch his every move, judge him by the way he’s dressed, by the way he walks, by the fact that he’s from the Higher Level. Women with red hair and men dressed in purple all turn their heads his way, away from their brown books and blue smartpads. Their eyes are forest green and ocean blue, Doyoung notices, they’re bright and pretty unlike his black orbs. The lower part of the city is like a Palette of oil colours – and Doyoung is the zinc white.

The walk to the main station isn’t long, however he listens to and counts his every step. It’s an even number. The station uses old fashioned doors, ones that you have to open yourselves, and Doyoung spends a hot minute trying to figure out how to open it.

“Need help?”

Doyoung is startled, almost screams, but no voice comes out. Screaming is prohibited in the Higher Level, and so the System shuts Doyoung’s voice out.

“Please.”

The voice that scared him laughs, loud and boisterous, as it twists the handle and opens the door, and god, Doyoung has never heard people loud like that – so open and free. Doyoung comes to his senses a second later and bows. 

“Thank you very much.”

The voice – the man – chuckles and waves his hand. “It’s nothing. You’re not from here, are you?”

Doyoung knows better than to make small talk with strangers, but there’s something about the man, the way his eyes look kind and his smile looks sincere, the way his pink hair rests over his forehead and his outfit screams anything but dangerous makes Doyoung open his mouth.

“No, I am not.” But Doyoung isn’t here for small talk, he’s on a mission, and the shuttle arrives in eighteen minutes and he really needs to get going. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to talk. If you’ll excuse me.”

The man raises his eyebrows and moves to the side, almost in amusement. “Sure.” He’s so laidback Doyoung is almost annoyed, well, anything that comes close to annoyance that he read about in school textbooks. Doyoung bows again and steps inside the station, closing the door behind him. There are electric lamps on the ceiling, which are ancient, actually press-able buttons in the elevators, and there’s music! Actual music playing inside! Doyoung feels overwhelmed. 

The main station contains all of the data about the Level, and Doyoung jots everything down, to the smallest detail. Technology here is indeed anything but advanced, with vehicles that touch the ground, no holograms, no censored anything. It’s surreal to Doyoung; how can people live like that? Without the convenience of technology? It’s as if the technological revolution never touched this place, left it in the past, meanwhile everyone else moved forward. Doyoung sends Mr. Moon more data about the lack of everything and writes with the tip of his fingers that there’s barely any way of communication between the two Levels and that whatever way there is, it must be improved or even better, replaced.

Doyoung takes the stairs back to the ground floor, having an interest and a certain joy in walking down the old way. It’s excitingly interesting to him, for some reason, but before Doyoung can bring himself to smile there’s a sharp pain in his head and his attempt at a smile drops. Oh, he’s not supposed to be enjoying himself. The spike in his head goes away as fast as it came, but Doyoung understands the warning nonetheless – no feelings allowed. Expression stoic, he leaves the building; if he picks up his pace, he’ll make it in time for the shuttle. 

However, the man with the pink hair is still there. 

“Already leaving?” He’s leaning against the brick wall of the station, gaze certain. Doyoung notices that the man has pretty honey eyes. 

“Ah, yes.” 

The man frowns a little, however Doyoung doesn’t understand why. 

“I’m sorry.” He finds himself apologizing, “I’m in a hurry. The shuttle is about to arrive in four minutes.”

“It’s supposed to, but it’s usually late, so don’t worry. Do you need help getting back?”

Doyoung thinks people won’t stare at him as much if someone walks alongside him, so he nods curtly. He and the man walk side by side, their colours mixing, until the familiar dark grey of the shuttle could be seen. It wasn’t late. 

“Thank you,” Doyoung bows and embarks the ship. The same conductor with the ribbon greets him with a glance and as they set off Doyoung sees his companion smile with a wave before the vivid colours tone down into monochrome.

“How was the Lower?” Johnny is practically sprawled all over his personal space. Doyoung raises an eyebrow at the overfamiliarity but doesn’t comment. 

“Good day. It was… alright. Not what I expected.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“It’s the most beautiful place i’ve ever seen.”

“Beautiful?” 

“Yes. Surprising, isn’t it? I’ve been told so many jaundiced things about it…”

“Oh do tell me more, the Lower has always piqued my undying interest.”

Doyoung hesitates for moment. “Why?” 

“I don’t know, if I were to be honest. I guess the mystery of it is rather appealing. Wait, you won’t relay my words to the Party, will you?” Johnny’s lips are curled up into a wry smile, but Doyoung knows better, knows that it’s a plea, a way for Johnny to open up to him, and Doyoung wouldn’t abuse his trust.

“No, I won’t.” 

The smile dissipates into something sincere, relief washing over Johnny’s features. “Thank the System! By the way, what was your business there?”

“I collected data about the Level’s mechanics and robotics, and declared their development level over to Mr. Moon. It’s funny; their machinery isn’t as advanced as ours and yet they seem more progressed in all other spheres rather than that than us. I mean, they don’t even have hovering cars!”

“Doyoung-ssi, may I ask a favour of you?”

“You may.”

“Can you redirect your reports to me?”

Doyoung almost chuckles. “You want to take over my job?”

“Practically, yes. I know it sounds absurd, but it’s rather serious, and I’m desperate. Pretty please?”

“I don’t know,” Doyoung pretends to think, “the pay’s insane.”

“For putting your life in danger,” Johnny laughs, “Come on, I’ll treat you to dinner. In an actual restaurant. With fresh food. You can’t say no!”

At that Doyoung opens up his report on the virtual screen and dials Johnny’s cubicle, even though he was set on letting Johnny take over either way. Johnny’s interactive Device receives the notification a millisecond later with a tiny sound of a bell. 

“Thank you,” he sighs, eyes grateful, and Doyoung gives him a minuscule smile. “Does tonight suit you?”

Freshly cooked food is an opulence not many can afford – ever since the Party took over as the leading authority the idea of canned food was implemented into the city. It’s cheap, simple and convenient. Food is fuel, not an emotion, that’s what Doyoung was taught while eating porridge out of tubes and soup out of tin cans. It’s been years since he ate normal food using plates and metallic forks and knives, and just the thought of going out to such a posh restaurant tonight has Doyoung’s stomach churning in hungriness and another feeling that makes him hopeful.

Johnny is dressed in a suit and tie, chocolate brown hair slicked back to show off his forehead. He holds the door open for Doyoung and smiles at the latter’s fascination with the place. The interior, to put it simply, is rich. Grand. Much unlike the simplicity one would see everywhere else. Doyoung sits on the faux leather armrest and it’s _soft_ and the materials are real and Doyoung would cry a bit, if he physically could. 

“How’s the place?”

“Magnificent.” Doyoung is still holding his breath. “Just what is the average paycheque here?”

Johnny only smiles. “Order up.” He suggests, and calls a waiter over.

A second later a waiter dressed in black and white walks up to their modest table and pours them a glass of a blood red wine with a stoic expression. Doyoung watches him pour the liquid without spilling a single drop. The waiter carefully puts the wine bottle down and sends a menu to their Devices. Doyoung scrolls through it for a moment until he opts for a large bowl of spaghetti. Johnny picks the same thing.

They eat in silence, and after his second glass of wine Johnny lights up a cigarette. “So, I think it would be appropriate to tell you why I really need your job.” He puts his elbows onto the table and loosens his tie a little. Puffs of smoke hit Doyoung in the face but the latter doesn’t make a move to avoid them.

“I’m listening.”

Johnny inhales and exhales a couple of rings, he looks quite relaxed, or maybe it’s the nicotine. “My brother. He disappeared four years ago. And I haven’t heard from him since.”

“You think…?”

“Yes. Most definitely.”

An Errored – that’s what he is. If he’s alive, that is.

“He must be alive, I just know it,” Johnny says but his resolve is faltering second by second, “the police couldn’t have got him. He’s a strong one. Wouldn’t go down without a fight. And if he did– well, then he went down for his beliefs.”

“Oh, Johnny-ssi, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Johnny puts the cigarette into the ashtray that burns the remains. Then, Johnny dumps the ashtray into a glass full of transparent acid. Swirling the mixture with a distance-controlled spoon, the ash dissolves completely into water. Johnny drinks it in one big gulp, then harshly puts the empty glass down with a sigh. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. It was his only conscious decision, which should be celebrated and not looked at with pity.”

“I suppose…” 

Johnny hums, eyes a bit solemn. “How was the spaghetti?”

“Delicious.”

He smiles. “It definitely was.”

Mr. Moon lets Johnny take over Doyoung’s job without any questions, thankfully, and Doyoung returns to his routine. He feels comfortable rearranging his desk at noon and leaving his workplace at exactly six in the evening, although sometimes his mind drifts back to the nameless kind man with pink hair and honey eyes. 

Johnny frequents the Lower, almost three times a week. 

“How’s it going?” Doyoung finds himself initiating conversation. Johnny looks up from his digital files and smiles. “It’s going. In a week workers will come and replace their control panel that manages the electricity and everything electricity-based, then we’ll export our electronics and rebuild their city.”

Doyoung nods. “What about your, um, search?”

“No clues.” Johnny shakes his head, “Unfortunately. I can’t go around asking anyone either, it’ll put both me and the Lower’s inhabitants at risk.”

Doyoung hesitates for a second before placing a hand on Johnny’s shoulder and squeezing it. “Everything will be okay.”

“Thank you, Doyoung-ssi.” 

Work gets busy for the next couple of hours after that, Johnny leaves for the shuttle and Doyoung drowns in numbers and percentages, frowning at the concept of the colourful city losing its colour soon. 

Two weeks later Johnny informs him that the urbanisation of the Lower has started, and they meet up with Taeyong to celebrate, kind of. Alcohol is allowed only on Saturdays, officially, that’s why Taeyong goes all out.

“This beer is quite the drink,” he almost slurs. The bar they’re in is so _dead_ it hurts. Of course, there are people in it and the place is in full swing, but there’s no drive, no energy – only Taeyong is having fun. Doyoung takes a sip out of the can. The beer is bland, but he drinks it nonetheless. The alcohol burns his throat with every gulp, and leaves a tingling sensation behind. It’s the most Doyoung has felt in an entire week. 

He laughs at himself dryly. “This beer is actual shit. Johnny-ssi, what is there to celebrate, really?”

“The System.” Johnny’s voice drips with sarcasm. 

“When will it be ingrained into the Lower?” Taeyong asks. He hiccups a little, having had too many drinks already. It’s only nine into the night.

“Five years max, I think. But considering how fast technology is progressing, it’s probably going to take faster.”

“What’ll happen to the Errored?” Doyoung muses, he can guess the answer.

“Oh, Doyoung-ssi, I don’t even want to think about that. The Party will either arrest them or brainwash them, for all I know, kill them even.” Johnny takes out a huge cigar. It smells of cheapness and poor quality. Taeyong orders them more beer, it’s going to be a long night. 

“But out of all things, you’re right, Doyoung-ssi,” Johnny blows out more smoke into the air, adding more grey to the dull wallpaper of the bar, “the Lower is a beautiful place.”

Doyoung gets back to his apartment by two in the AMs. Feeling like straying from his usual routine, he ignores the alarm signalling that it’s time for bed and sits on his couch and turns the TV on with a click of his right hand. 

The screen starts playing a drama that Doyoung has no interest in. Bored, Doyoung goes up the channel list, resigned to listen to whatever news could be broadcasted during the night. There’s mostly talks about the Higher and its progressiveness, how the bordering countries are enemies to theirs, and there’s also the head of the Party giving an interview about politics. 

Doyoung listens and listens, lets the propaganda sink into the neurones of his brain, until he snaps out of it.

“Goodness, what am I doing,” Doyoung mutters to himself, turning the TV off. The screen blacks out entirely, and Doyoung is surrounded by silence once again. The voices in his head stop too, and Doyoung calms down. He absolutely despises the effect modern television has on him; how whatever they say sticks to the insides of his head and infiltrates his brain, stays rooted there, and doesn’t let him think on his own. It’s frightening. He desperately needs a book, but then remembers that books are the past’s leisure activity. Now, there’s the option to put your Smart goggles on and dive into Google head first. He does just that, and roams around the Web until dawn, and sleeps for the whole Sunday, wondering whether the Lower has any real paperback books and not virtual piles of dump. 

Today, one of the Party’s members is at Mr. Moon’s office a couple floors up, and Doyoung wonders what business does it have with their techno firm. He wants to ask Johnny, but Johnny is still at the Lower, and has been for a couple of days now. He worries for a second, something he’s never done before, but before he can dwell on his irrational emotions he gets a notification from his robot assistant.

“Mr. Moon will be expecting you, Mr. Kim.”

Doyoung is almost nervous, but obliges. The office doors are open as he arrives, face to face first with his boss and the head of the Party.

“Welcome, Doyoung-ssi!” Mr. Moon exclaims, “Sit down, sit down! Today we have an important guest visiting us. Would you like a drink?”

“No, thank you. I don’t drink at work.” Doyoung sits down on the hard furniture. Mr. Moon’s smile widens. “What a great employee! Confederate Jung, this is Dongyoung Kim, our best and most loyal employee at Neo Inc.” 

“Pleased to meet you,” Confederate Jung extends his artificial hand and Doyoung almost winces at how tight he shakes it. 

“Likewise, Sir.”

“Dongyoung-ssi, I’ve called you here for a remarkable opportunity. As you know, we’re planning on advancing the Lower Level’s technologies but also the Higher’s as well. Confederate Jung is willing to sponsor us throughout this journey, isn’t that wonderful?”

Confederate Jung’s eyes crinkle with something alongside mirth, his obese face morphing into an ugly grin. “It is, my dear friend.”

“What could be better than the constant evolution of technology in this time and age? Absolutely nothing! Well, maybe the tightening of our bonds, and the System of course.” Mr. Moon pours himself, Confederate Jung and Doyoung, despite his refusal, a shot of vodka. It has an unpleasant smell, all alcohol does, making Doyoung feel light-headed from the acute fragrance of the alcohol, but he accepts the shot out of politeness.

“Let’s celebrate our partnership on this fine afternoon.”

Doyoung takes the small glass reluctantly and clinks with the Party’s head and his boss before all three of them down it in a gulp. Doyoung’s face scrunches in distaste at the bitterness and at the feeling of dread that washes over him. What kind of partnership can they possible have? And why in the world is he involved… Doyoung downs another shot. 

“What exactly do you want me to do?”

Mr Moon leans back and puts his new shoes on the table. He clicks his fingers twice and a small android rolls up to him, a lighter in its mechanic arms. It lights a cigar for Doyoung’s boss soundlessly, and then is dismissed. Doyoung has noticed the appearance of these human-looking robots. They’re a novelty – something their company started producing just a couple of days ago. Doyoung wonders if their appearance is the only human-like thing about them, or whether they also succumb to the System. He hopes they don’t, but they most probably do.

“Just stay true to us, to the System, and you’ll be rewarded greatly.”

On Friday Johnny returns, but Doyoung is the one who has news for him. 

“The Party is officially involved with our company.” He tells seriously, “be careful from now on, please. Who knows what’ll happen if they find your ulterior motive.”

“Don’t be concerned, Doyoung-ssi,” Johnny reassures, although there’s a sliver of fear in his glance and hopeless expression. “I thought about stopping with the, you know – it’s futile.”

Doyoung frowns. “Are you sure?”

“I am,” Johnny sits on his reclined office chair and runs a hand through his hair. He’s so tired. “It’s been weeks, and I’ve got no clues at all, it’s like he’s just gone.”

“Are there no records of him at the station? Nothing in the records of the population census?”

Johnny shakes his head, then laughs bitterly. “It’s alright. I didn’t have much hope in the first place, but it still hurts. It shouldn’t, but it does. And it hurts much more than I thought it would.”

Doyoung feels a pang in his chest at that, like he’s hurting with, for, his colleague. Doyoung has read about such emotion when he was roaming through the Web – empathy. He desperately wishes he could help in any way, shape or form, but then there’s the fear of being found out and reported to the Party, and especially now that he’s associated with it, he can take no risks and should stay low – go back to his routine and forget about the Lower Level once and for all.

Memories are superficial – easily forgettable, especially when there’s not much to remember. It takes Doyoung a hot minute to remember what the hell he was doing last week, if he was doing anything at all, the cogs in his brain turning as if they were metallic. Sometimes he wishes we were an android – without the unnecessary feelings humans possess. 

“Actually,” Mr. Moon says, “our first and utmost priority is to develop these androids so they’re as human as possible. The best designers of our country are working on their facial features alongside the most intelligent of bioengineers, perfecting everything up to the smallest percentage. This will surely boost our rating in the world’s economy. The faster we finalise their design, the faster we’ll reach the top spot. Also, there’s the urbanisation of the Lower that’s already started, isn’t that lovely?” He clasps his hands and grins like a madman. “It’s only a matter of time ‘till everything sorts itself out. It’s about time we have the Errored under control, too. Those bastards can’t hide forever.”

Doyoung half-listens to his boss ramble on about their success and progress through the hologram on his office desk. He moved offices last month ever since he got promoted – now he and his boss reside on the same floor – all alone, between the fake windows and in between all of the grey. Doyoung visits factories twice a week to check on the androids and goes out for drinks with his boss, Confederate Jung and the rest of the Party every weekend, his old cubicle and reports long forgotten. What is he getting so much money for again? He doesn’t know the answer to that.

He feels himself return to the shell he was once before – one of a perfect citizen that obeyed the System, one that was empty on the inside. But as long as he’s not breaking the law, Doyoung feels at peace. Confederate Jung has him under his wing, and that’s Doyoung’s biggest advantage as well as it is the opposite. 

He doesn’t see Johnny much or Taeyong, for that matter, having found himself being in a completely different friend circle – one with noble politicians and businessmen. It’s a weird change, if it’s for the better, Doyoung doesn’t know, nor does he give it much thought. He still keeps in touch with Johnny via his Device on his wrist and promises to attend one of Taeyong’s debates when he’s free.

It’s a Saturday when his schedule is empty, and Doyoung puts on his most casual black attire before taking the electrobus to the plaza where debates are usually held. The holographic number on his watch shows seven in the evening, which means the cold sun should set soon – it’s winter after all. Doyoung watches from the window of the electrobus as the star lowers itself over the horizon, and then disappears in a flash. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine an actual sunset – with reds and oranges turning into a dark blue and the yellow sun gives way to the moon – but to no avail. Doyoung opens his eyes and thinks about the colourful buildings he saw on the Lower Level months ago. The bus arrives. 

There’s a guard in front of the plaza who glares at Doyoung and anyone who comes close. Doyoung opens up his Device and shows him his ID that pops up onto a holographic projection, to which the glare dissipates and he walks in. Inside, there’s a medium-sized venue with a small stage. There are no seats, however the room is almost fully packed. Doyoung catches sight of Taeyong with a microphone, but doesn’t see Johnny anywhere close. He gets himself a drink – he’s allowed – and stands a bit further from the stage, but close enough to see Taeyong.

Taeyong greets his audience and waves to Doyoung and begins rambling about this and that, voice smooth, loud and steady, as if he was born to be an orator. Doyoung listens to him closely, interested in what he has to say about the System, his criticism about modern politics. So far so smooth, Doyoung thinks, as he orders another glass of an alcoholic beverage, but then another thought plagues him – when did he start drinking so much?

As he pays for the drink with his Device he hears a deafening sound come out of the speakers, it’s high-pitched and so ragged it hurts Doyoung’s ears, and then he hears the sound of Taeyong’s microphone drop to the ground and suddenly, the crowd is swarmed with panic, the plaza engulfed with torturing screams. Doyoung turns around in horror to see the venue being terrorised with armed people in uniforms with guns and Confederate Jung being in front of them all. The crowd runs and runs as Doyoung sees Taeyong getting manhandled and cuffed by two policemen, and everything happens so fast Doyoung nearly misses the sounds of gunshots and what they yelled at Taeyong and his audience.

“In the name of the Party, you, Lee Taeyong, are hereby arrested for spreading false, hateful misinformation about the System.”

Taeyong doesn’t resist, he can’t resist, the laser handcuffs being full of electricity. The police take him away just as Confederate Jung walks up to Doyoung, putting his fat human arm on Doyoung’s bony shoulder.

“What is going on?!” Doyoung rages.

“Dongyoung-ssi,” Confederate Jung smiles, half of his teeth platinum and half vibranium, “Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. If not for you, this hateful person would’ve spread more and more false lies about the System. You’re a hero to our country.”

_Hero?_ Doyoung feels nauseous and Confederate Jung’s hand feels like a ton on his shoulder, crushing him inside and out. 

“It is in common knowledge that no one can go against the System, Doyoung-ssi,” the head of the Party states, “Your friend was doing just that, the criminal that he is.”

Doyoung’s head and heart pound against his chest irregularly, “What will happen to him?”

“Fear not, my comrade, nothing bad. A year in jail or so, and lessons on the greatness of the System.”

“That’s outright brainwashing!”

“Doyoung-ssi, must I remind you that if not for this individual being associated with you he’d be dead by now? Be thankful, for I’m sure having your friend dead by your own hands isn’t pretty, isn’t that right, Doyoung-ssi?” Confederate Jung smacks his shoulder lightly twice, and Doyoung gulps, watching the Party’s head walk away, his words replaying in Doyoung’s head like some sick mantra. _By your own hands_. It’s his fault. Taeyong’s arrest was all his fault. Sickness washing over him, Doyoung empties his stomach behind the bar stand, and crouches down and eventually sits down next to his own mess, waiting for the screams to fade away into torturing silence.

Once he’s alone in the empty, torn down venue, he punches the wall. 

“Fuck!”

One punch, another, he doesn’t stop until his knuckles bleed all the way down his arms and through his suit, staining and painting it an ugly crimson.

“Fucking hell.” He almost sobs, almost, because no matter how hard he tries, he can’t cry. His head spins, and his insides scream, he’s overwhelmed, but no tears come out. It hurts – his knuckles, but most of all his heart, his hearts hurst so goddamn much. 

Doyoung sits against the steel bar stand for a few more minutes before fixing up his suit and washing his knuckles and leaves the bar. It’s eerily quiet outside. The moon hangs lowly in the greyish-black sky, bright and white. It’s late, Doyoung opts to walk back to his lonely apartment, plagued by his thoughts and actions. There’s no one on the usually busy street and Doyoung is both relieved and unnerved because of the deafening quietness. As soon as he gets home, he steps into the shower, washes the blood away, his thoughts away, scrubs his skin until it burns, until everything burns, takes three repressants – not enough to overdose but enough to stop the pain for a while – and blacks out. 

He wakes up feeling sweaty and disgusting, and he’s frustrated by how the repressants haven’t helped him get rid of his thoughts and feelings entirely. Dreading to get out of bed, he drags himself to work, because he’s a good citizen and he obeys the law and always shows up on time and he’s never late and he followers the orders his boss and the System tell him to do, and while he sits at his own office room, almost alone on one-hundredth floor of the Neo Inc. skyscraper, money being added to his bank account with every passing minute, he is even more disgusted by the thought of how he’s an absolutely horrible friend.

Doyoung doesn’t dare look Johnny in the eye, and avoids him at all cost to save him from the shame he’s weight under, Confederate Jung’s words still stuck in his mind like a broken record. He spends more time in factories with lifeless androids and mechanism, only there he can’t be judged nor shamed. His boss takes a growing liking to him, and calls him into his office one afternoon with news.

“Doyoung-ssi, this is for you. From Confederate Jung himself.”

He plops done brand new car keys into Doyoung’s fair white palm with a smile. “The car’s parked outside. It’s a black Mercedes.” His face brightens at Doyoung’s surprise. “Dismissed.” 

Even at six in the evening Doyoung is still quite shocked; he walks out his office towards the sleek Mercedes with the keys still strongly clasped around the palm it hurts. He checks out the model – it’s the newest one – the black paint shines prettily in the sunlight, and Doyoung sees his reflection in it bright and clear – eye bags, messed up hair, wrinkles on his shirt and on his forehead. He sighs and he opens in.

The interior is extravagant – a voice greets him, by his birth name already, it’s female and robotic, and the seats adjust themselves to Doyoung’s long bony limbs, to a comfortable position. The screen panel is wide and shows the map of the city, and the steering wheel controls itself. 

Doyoung sits unmoving for a moment, and then starts laughing, bordering on hysteria. “He’s fucking buying my silence!” He hits the steering wheel. The honk resonates through the area and he gets a couple of questioning glances. But Doyoung doesn’t care in the slightest, what he does care about, though, is getting out of here as soon as possible, out of the city, out of the technological garbage dump. 

He needs to go somewhere quiet as fast as he can. Doyoung drives to his apartment complex building, gripping his steering wheel with so much force his bruised knuckles turn white. He parks the car behind a hologram of some ad and stops by his apartment for a moment to search for valuables he might own. He starts using his brain for once – he can’t use his Device, otherwise his actions will be tracked, he can’t use his new car either. Tapping his hand twice the lights in his apartment go off and he leaves in a hurry. He runs, from the System, from the Party, from himself.

He doesn’t let his feet rest until he reaches the station, and patienty waits for a shuttle to arrive as he pants and catches his breath. Only then does Doyoung realize how terribly unfit he is, but then again, sports wasn’t something recommended if you wanted to stay out of trouble with the authority. Sports ignite rivalry and competitiveness – feelings that give birth to arguments and bring people to their downfall, and are therefore absolutely forbidden. Doyoung has never seen a football in his life. 

The vehicle emerges after twenty minutes or so and Doyoung notices that the same skinny conductor with the ribbon is by the control panel. Doyoung squirms for a moment before he goes for it.

“Sir!”

“Good day.” The conductor says. 

“Sir,” Doyoung pleads, “please let me ride to the Lower today. I do not have my Device with me but I desperately need to get down there.”

The conductor eyes him suspiciously, and shakes his head. “No can do, buddy, we only accept cryptos here, if you can’t pay with that, then get out.”

“Sir,” Doyoung insists, taking out a brand new model of the holographic watch Confederate Lee gifted him Doyoung doesn’t remember when. “Please reconsider. Just two rides. One down and one back up.”

The man hesitantly takes the watch, and Doyoung eyes his every motion without breathing. His eyes roam over the conductor’s gloved arms, and he only exhales when the man puts the watch on. It glimmers under the fluorescent lights and the conductor smiles boastfully. 

“I suppose I can make an exception tonight. Get on board.”

Doyoung bows almost ninety degrees and sits at the back of the shuttle. He feels a little relieved and a little lighter. He hasn’t been at the Lower in over three months and wonders whether anything has changed since then. He thanks the conductor again and again for his bought kindness, until the latter shoos him out of the vehicle, and steps down from the station.

There are construction sites everywhere around him, metal cranes sticking out of tall buildings and red warning signs draped over the city landscape. There are new types of cars – the ones that are actually without wheels and with rocket engines, Doyoung observes – and so so much artificial light. One thing hasn’t changed however – the vivid colours that Doyoung has dreamt about day after day. 

The Lower and the Higher Levels are the regions of the same city, and yet they feel worlds apart, they are worlds apart, and Doyoung feels like an actual intruder. But he’s tired, shaken up, agitated, and he really needs a drink or two.

Finding a bar doesn’t take up much time, thankfully, and seconds later Doyoung finds himself sitting on a hovering stool in a run-down yet somehow post-modern bar right in the middle of a city. There’s music thumping from all corners, actual live music, coming from instruments Doyoung has never seen before, and god, Doyoung is already drunk only on the melody that pierces his heart. 

He can’t do much without his Device, he realizes, and therefore has to communicate with actual people and ask the bartender for a menu. It’s scary to him how much he relies on technology, and how utterly powerless and useless he – everyone – is without it.

“Excuse me,” Doyoung turns to the bartender, who’s cleaning pint glasses of beer, “can you send me the menu?”

What greets him is a familiar face, dirty-pink hair and knowing, honey eyes. 

“We don’t have digital menus, only paper ones.” The man’s lips are quirked up, amused. 

Doyoung sobers up. “Really?”

The man laughs, “Yes, really. Well, it’s not quite paper, but something as close to it as it could possibly be.” He puts his rag and glass down and gives Doyoung a book-looking gold woven menu. Doyoung gasps at the feeling of the actual material against his fingertips and traces the menu in and out. There are letters engraved on its front and back with the same gold. 

“Wow. It’s so real.”

“Everything here in the Lower here is real, baby.” The bartender whistles. Then, more seriously, he says, “I remember you.”

“I remember you too.” Doyoung puts the menu down. “You haven’t changed much.”

The bartender tsks, “Can’t say the same about you. You look terrible.”

Doyoung raises his eyebrows at the statement but he knows it’s true. 

“I still need to thank you for helping me out that time.”

“No need, no need. ‘S not a big deal. What’d you like to drink? You’re lucky my shift’s today.” The bartender smirks. 

Doyoung gives him a polite smile and runs his fingers over the engraved letter again. Right before he opts for a cocktail he remembers that he’s penniless. He frowns. “I’m afraid luck is not in my favour tonight after all – I came here empty handed.”

The man looks at where Doyoung’s finger is placed and gets to work. “No worries, it’s on the house.”

“But–”

“No but's! I’ll treat you this time and I don’t know, maybe you’ll treat next time, what do you say, hm?” 

“Okay. Okay. That sounds good.”

Doyoung doesn’t know if there’s going to be a next time. There _shouldn’t_ be one. Both for Doyoung’s and everyone’s safety, but Doyoung doesn’t feel like playing a good citizen anymore. He’s tired. So so tired, and the cocktail is so delicious, bursting with reds and purples, and the bartender’s smile is so enchanting and pretty, Doyoung wishes the night would never end. 

With every sip of his magical cocktail he loosens up and relaxes, which is exactly what he needs after such a rough week. 

“Just what did you put in my drink?” He jokes.

“Something strong to take your mind off of things – I can tell you’re agitated. You know, a frown really doesn’t suit your handsome face.” Doyoung nearly flushes. “A penny for your thoughts?”

Doyoung beats around the bush. “Tough week. Shit happens. You have no idea.”

The bartender laughs. “I probably don’t. I only know as much as you’re willing to tell me.”

“Maybe not today.” Doyoung winces, “But this cocktail is very good. You’re good.”

“I know,” the bartender retorts, smiling. Doyoung really likes his confidence. His attitude towards customers, himself, everything, his behaviour, is so open and so unlike the Higher people’s one, Doyoung is both taken aback and interested. 

“So, what’re you up to here on a wintry night? I don’t remember the rich from the even richer Higher being interested in the poor old Lower.” The man says harshly, resuming to cleaning of the beer glass – there’s a spot that doesn’t seem to go away. Doyoung’s eyes are fixated on the way the bartender’s muscles flex as he cleans with the rag – his biceps are toned and the man himself looks impossible fit, which is already a sign that Doyoung’s having business with not an ordinary citizen. Nonetheless. Doyoung frowns at the remark. The man said it in a joking manner but it certainly didn’t come off that way. There’s a certain truth hidden in all jokes, but the man didn’t try to conceal the evident truth at all, either.

“I just wanted to… get away from all of this.” 

The man hums. “That’s what they all say at first.” Doyoung doesn’t understand him but the man continues. “I suggest stopping these thoughts before it’s too late. Wouldn’t want to disobey the System now, wouldn’t you.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I’m saying is,” the man puts the rag back down again, “that such small, questioning thoughts may grow into something very – how should I put it – into something that might endanger your life. Put a stop to questioning the system or bid your high-paying job adiós and end up like us – like me – cleaning this fucking stain off of a fucking beer glass, your luxurious life down the drain.” He nearly spits out, only smiling when the stain finally cleans itself off.

“There!” the man exclaims, examining the glass, “beautiful.”

Doyoung stares at him with wide eyes. “You’re an Errored?”

The man focuses his attention on him, and then breaks into a loud laugh, “Yes, God, yes I am.” He keeps laughing and Doyoung doesn’t understand what’s so funny.

“This is hilarious,” the bartender leaves his post and sits down next to Doyoung on the same hovering stool. The latter only looks at him with wide eyes. 

“Tell me more about yourself.”

Doyoung blinks, at a sudden loss for words

“Uhm. Well, for starters, I’m twenty-five?” He sounds unsure. “And I work in an office. Have been working there ever since I can remember. Um. I don’t really know what to say about myself, I guess that’s it.”

The man laughs again, his baritone resonating through Doyoung’s ears, and Doyoung notices that his companion has very pretty dimples adorning his full cheeks. “No, I’m asking for your name, stupid.”

“Oh, Doyoung. Kim Dongyoung.”

“Well, Doyoung, it’s a pleasure to finally formally meet you. Took us actual months to know each other’s names! I’m Jaehyun.”

Doyoung extends his hand for a traditional handshake, however Jaehyun shakes it a completely different way. 

“Now I know why you were at the station that day. I assume you’re responsible for the changes the Lower has gone through?” Doyoung nods. “Though, I admit hovering stools are cool. I can kick rude customers out of the bar easier.”

“I was responsible for that initially, but after my first visit here my colleague took over the job.”

“Oh!” Jaehyun quips. “Brownish hair, tall, with a prominent philtrum? I’ve talked to him a handful of times.” 

“Is that so?”

“Yes, he’s so easy to make conversation with, but god, does he smoke a lot.”

Doyoung laughs. “He likes to call himself smoking hot. I’ve got no clue how his girlfriend stands him. Love does blind people, huh?”

Jaehyun nods. “Do you have a significant other?”

“No, and you?”

“Also no. what a pleasant coincidence.” The smile he sends Doyoung has him enchanted for some reason. Doyoung doesn’t even want to think about what in the world Jaehyun is implying, if he is, that is. Too bad he forgot his repressants at home. Instead, Doyoung just sips on his cocktail. It’s fruity and bursting with both colour and flavour, much to Doyoung’s joy. It’s extremely tasty. 

“This drink is absolutely exquisite. For how long have you been working as a bartender?”

Jaehyun’s eyes shimmer with little stars. “A month or so. Can’t really keep a job for long – they’ll find me sooner or later, you know?” 

Doyoung frowns, but then his watch beeps annoyingly. White holographic number flash in front of his face. It’s extremely late.

“I must get going,” Doyoung apologizes, “I’m sorry.” He turns the watch off and puts on his hat and scarf, all black and made of faux materials. Jaehyun nods. “Alright. I’d better get to work, too. The night has only started!”

Doyoung takes a long look at the bar again – at the half full dance floor, at the ragged neon lights that light up the venue, the fact that there are no windows and a tightly closed door, and then at Jaehyun. He gives him a small smile, and realizes how both anxiety inducing and relaxing his impromptu trip to the Lower was. He wishes he could come again.

Jaehyun asks, as if adding to his pleasant thoughts. “Should I expect you to come again?”

But Doyoung shakes his head. “Most likely no. Wouldn’t want to get your hopes up, either way.”

“Aw. That’s a shame.” Jaehyun follows Doyoung out the bar. The cold wind hits Doyoung in the face like a brick, and forces him to wake to from his dream. Back to reality. The shuttle should arrive in a few minutes. 

“Don’t let yourself get brainwashed!” Jaehyun shouts as Doyoung walks away. What a weird way of saying goodbye. 

Doyoung wonders how boring must a job of going back and forth the Levels be. He sits on the last row of the modern shuttle, the hard seats hurt his spine and behind, but Doyoung is used to it. He gazes at the windows that show blackness outside, and closes his eyes. The darkness he sees isn’t as black.

Before he leaves the shuttle once and for all, Doyoung pesters the conductor again. 

“What are your working hours?”

“Excuse me? That’s classified information.”

“Sir,” Doyoung presses, “please. I’m only asking so that I'll know when to arrive at the station and go to the Lower, nothing more.”

“Citizen, what’s gotten to you? What business do you have in the Lower? Are you an Errored?”

“Dear System, no,” Doyoung is offended. “I’d never.”

“Good.” The conductor says. “Now run along. I have a family to go back to.”

Doyoung huffs, but leaves obediently. “Good night.”

“Good night. And I work Mondays and Thursdays. All day long.”

Doyoung smiles. 

“What’s this?”

Mr. Moon looks away from the hologram of whatever he’s working on right now to meet Doyoung’s expectant gaze.

“These? Oh! They’re banners that are going to be distributed all around the city. What do you think?”

Doyoung stares and cringes at the writing.

_The System – the bright future of all of humanity._

He gulps. “Distributed where to?”

“Oh, well, everywhere! Schools, universities, streets, but most importantly schools – you have to teach the younglings the importance of the System.”

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am.” Mr. Moon swipes the hologram down and it disappears out of sight. 

“I suppose I can trust you to manage this procedure?”

“As in?”

“Yes, Doyoung,” Doyoung’s boss says, “I am giving you another raise.”

“But for what?”

“The harder you work, the more you’ll be rewarded.” Mr. Moon pats his shoulder. “Also, please call me Taeil.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Nu-uh! First name basis, Doyoung.”

“Right. Taeil-ssi.”

“Atta boy.” Taeil smiles. “Now get to work.”

Doyoung feels sick to the stomach just by looking at the slogans and the banners, but nonetheless does as he is told. Taeil favours him, trusts him even, and Doyoung can’t possibly let him, the System – _himself_ – down. It’s not a hard job, with every promotion he finds himself barely lifting a finger, and yet his pockets are heavier and heavier. It disgusts him. He’s disgusted by himself.

Meanwhile driving home in his gifted car, Doyoung looks at the propaganda surrounding the concrete of the city. Infuriated, he abruptly turns left and parks his car in a place where cameras can’t reach and leaves it there.

“Back so soon?”

“Yes,” Doyoung bows to the conductor.

“Another watch today?” The man humours.

“Ah, unfortunately not. However I do have these coins.”

The conductor stares, wide-eyed. “Where did you get those?”

Doyoung shrugs. 

The Lower instantly calms Doyoung’s nerves and evens his breathing out. Only here does Doyoung feel like his actions won’t be judged, only here will the System not get to him. He walks to the bar in hopes of meeting Jaehyun again, and to his luck, the bartender is still here, behind the counter, serving customers with a grin on his face.

As if on cue, Jaehyun tunes his way.

“Look who we have here!” he exclaims. “You said you wouldn’t come.”

“I thought I wouldn’t.” Doyoung sits down on the stool. Its solid and hard, but Doyoung has never felt more comfortable. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re here.” Jaehyun says. 

Doyoung orders the same cocktail, only with an extra shot of vodka.

“Rough day again?”

“You could say that.”

“That’s why you’re aiming for a hangover?”

“No,” Doyoung shakes his head, “I just want to forget for a while.”

Jaehyun hums. He jumps over the counter and lands sits on the stool next to Doyoung. He pours himself a pint of beer.

“Are you allowed to drink during working hours?”

“There are no rules here,” Jaehyun shrugs. “You can whatever you want. And right now, I want some beer.” 

Doyoung laughs. “Isn’t that nice.”

“Truly. But really, I’m glad you came here today. I’m going to turn in my resignation letter tomorrow. You could have been a day too late!”

“Where are you going to work next?”

“Oh, I don’t know yet. I was thinking about a café. To be frank, I’m getting tired of these night shifts; it must be my old age.”

“Old?” Doyoung puts his drink down, “You can’t be older than me. If anyone, I'm the grandpa here.”

“Well,” Jaehyun scratches his neck. Doyoung notices a flower tattoo behind his ear. Doyoung has seen such flowers in children’s books, but never in real life. It looks pretty. “You do act like one.”

“I get that a lot. Cheers to our old souls.” 

“Cheers.”

Jaehyun brings their glasses together with so much force, both of their drinks spill onto the floor, but neither care. Jaehyun grins and stands up, extending his hand.

“Doyoung, do you dance?”

“No, I do not.”

“Alright. Let me rephrase that. Doyoung, would you like to dance with me?”

Doyoung smiles. “I would, but I don’t know how.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Jaehyun pulls Doyoung forward, so that they’re standing chest to chest. “Just let your body move.”

The music is unbearably loud, it’s hot and humid in the bar, and usually Doyoung would be repulsed by such atmosphere, but now he just lets himself relax for once. He watched Jaehyun move his body to the rhythm, and does the same. It’s alleviating. He stretches his arms and twirls around, eyes never leaving Jaehyun’s frame. 

“You guys up there just don’t know how to have fun.” Jaehyun shouts over the crowd.

“We have other perceptions of fun.” 

“Is that so? And what are they like?”

Doyoung stops dancing to think. Nothing really comes to mind. He chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “Never mind.” But when he opens his eyes again he sees how suddenly close Jaehyun is standing next to him. 

“Are you having fun?” His eyes are sparkling. Doyoung is only a little bit entranced. Just a little.

“I think… yes.”

Jaehyun smiles. “That’s good.”

Doyoung feels slightly awkward, because he’s stiff compared to Jaehyun and his limbs aren’t cooperating like he would like them to, but then suddenly Jaehyun puts his hands on Doyoung’s hips and he gasps, but then relaxes almost instantly. 

“Is this fine?” Jaehyun asks, hips still moving to the beat. 

“More than fine.” It feels natural, for some wicked reason. As if Doyoung’s bony hips were made for Jaehyun’s soft hands. The latter is standing too close for comfort, but it’s more exhilarating than uncomfortable. Doyoung’s heart rate speeds up in excitement. And when Jaehyun kisses him, it feels like the most natural thing in the world, too. Jaehyun’s touches feel hot against his skin, like little explosions, sparks of electricity. Doyoung feels as if he’s on fire, not from the overly humid dance floor or the sweat, but from Jaehyun’s lips on his. 

Jaehyun’s hands reach for the back of Doyoung’s neck, and god, the feeling is so electrifying. Doyoung circles his own hand around Jaehyun’s waist and pulls him closer, as close as he possibly can. He tugs on Jaehyun’s bottom lip and the latter moans quietly. Doyoung feels so drunk. 

There’s a red flag in Doyoung’s brain telling him that _everything_ he’s doing right now is wrong: being at the Lower is wrong, dancing with a stranger is wrong, kissing a man is so so _wrong_, but Doyoung’s heart feels that it’s right. He ignores the warning signs and just presses harder against Jaehyun, angles his head more so they could kiss more and more and _more_. Doyoung finally feels like he’s alive. 

Their kisses taste like strawberry mixed with beer, however Doyoung can’t get enough of them. His lungs are bursting from the lack of oxygen, and it’s Jaehyun who pulls apart so that both of them could breathe.

“Whoa, whoa,” he laughs in between panted breaths, “eager, aren’t we?”

Doyoung rolls his eyes. “You’re irresistible.” He admits.

“Damn. Smooth.” Jaehyun lips are back on Doyoung’s in one swift motion. His hands roam around Doyoung’s torso. “You are, too.”

He corners Doyoung against the wall, presses feather kisses to his jaw and neck, one hand sliding down his shirt and up his body. Doyoung shivers at the feeling of cold fingers against his stomach, but it’s oddly exciting. “I’m assuming it would be smarter to go to my place.” Jaehyun whispers against his neck. Doyoung shudders a bit, but then sobers up. “Are you really taking me, a stranger, to your house?”

“Yeah. Is that a problem?”

“Jaehyun, you don’t know me. You don’t know for whom I work for. You don’t know anything about me.”

“That’s true. But you don’t know me either.” Jaehyun retorts. His eyes and smile are lazy and laid-back. Doyoung has never seen such a casual person, ever. “You wanted to forget, so I’m giving you that opportunity, unless, um, you don’t want to.”

Doyoung knows he should turn back right now and leave. “No, I do.” He says instead. 

Jaehyun smiles. It’s unfair how handsome he looks despite such a wrecked state under the bar’s blaring lights. Doyoung wants to kiss him again. “Sweet. What do you say we get out of here, then?”

Doyoung wakes up in unfamiliar surroundings. The first thing he takes notice of is how light and clear the room is, how the air is as fresh as in the mountains, and how there’s a weight on his stomach. An arm is curled around his waist; Doyoung almost screams. But then he recognises the arm, the slender fingers and the firm muscle. It’s Jaehyun’s. Oh, that’s right, last night they slept together. Doyoung reddens at the memory.

He quickly but gently throws Jaehyun’s arm off of him and sits up on the corner of the bed. He looks back at Jaehyun and his sleeping face. The man looks peaceful in the artificial sunlight, pink hair aglow. He looks like a porcelain doll, an angel, something too beautiful to be human, and Doyoung has the urge to caress Jaehyun’s face. So he does.

Doyoung strokes his hand through Jaehyun’s silky hair, then goes downwards to his eyebrows, eyelids, the slope on his nose. He trails his fingers gently over Jaehyun’s cheeks that are smooth like a peach’s, cups his face, runs his thumb over his lips. Doyoung is so close to Jaehyun; he can feel the warmth he’s radiating, count all of his eyelashes, see the little hairs on his face. Doyoung has never seen a man so beautiful. 

Jaehyun’s eyes slowly flutter open. He looks at Doyoung with warmth and smiles shyly, dimples forming on the sides of his cheeks and Doyoung kisses him. He kisses slow and sweet, unlike last night, takes all of his time to taste Jaehyun properly, feel the way his lips move against his own. It’s like paradise, an utopia, Doyoung thinks. Everything the Higher wishes to achieve is right here, in Doyoung’s palms, in Jaehyun, in his lips and honey eyes, his touches and hushed whispers. He’s Doyoung’s utopia.

“Mm,” Jaehyun moans a little as he gets pushed back against the bed as Doyoung gets on top of him, “I gotta brush my teeth.”

“Later,” Doyoung says.

“Alright,” Jaehyun chuckles. His voice is raspy from remnants of sleep and it sounds extremely hot. He places one hand on the small of Doyoung’s back, and another hand lands on his hip. Jaehyun touches are soft. His gaze is soft. Doyoung leans in to kiss him again, but feels something tickle his head.

“What’s that?” He asks without opening his eyes. 

Doyoung feels Jaehyun laugh against his lips. “Leaves.”

At this, Doyoung sits up straight and gapes at the sight before him. It’s a potted plant, with so so many leaves. “Jaehyun, that’s crazy.” He touches the soft leaves with his hands as carefully as he can, “Is that real?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my System.” Doyoung moves his arm to touch the branches, the stems, the velvet of the inner sides of the plant. He’s in complete awe. 

“Jaehyun.. How?” He turns to the man, who’s still lying in bed half asleep, although there’s a lazy smile on his face. His caramel eyes are focused on Doyoung’s movements and star-stuck expression, dimples deepening when Doyoung himself lets his lips curl upwards at the feeling of the softness of the plant. 

“It’s a long story. Do you like it?”

“I’ve dreamt of seeing nature with my own two eyes for_ years_, of course I like it.”

“That’s good,” Jaehyun says, “I think you’d like to look around.”

At that Doyoung takes a proper look around Jaehyun’s bedroom. His eyes widen at the sight of flowers and plant upon more and more greenery. There’s ivy hanging from the ceiling, cacti and succulents growing on the window sill, a whole array of colourful flowers on shelves and the table. There’s even moss on the walls, and Doyoung instantly reaches out to feel it against his fingertips. It’s wet and soft; Doyoung runs his palm through the walls, feels the moss tickle against his skin, and shivers at the feeling. Then he cranes his head up to properly look at the ivy, and accidentally falls back against the bed, right into Jaehyun’s arms and onto his lap. Jaehyun leans down to give him a quick peck on the nose. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

“Jaehyun,” Doyoung exhales, “just who _are_ you?”

Jaehyun’s eyes crinkle into crescents. “Before the you-know-what,” he moves Doyoung’s head onto his lap, “I was a biologist.”

Doyoung’s lips part slightly, and then close. “That’s an extinct profession.”

“Not really.” Jaehyun states, “There are still seeds of flowers deep down in the soil, lying unharmed. Most of them have high radiation, and result in glowing flowers, but some are healthy. It’s the most satisfying yet frustrating job I’ve ever had.” 

Doyoung concludes that he likes hearing about Jaehyun passion. He likes the way the man’s speech is soft, how his eyes sparkle with each word, how Jaehyun’s fingers softly thread through Doyoung’s hair. He decides that he likes being indifferent. That it’s nice to care actually about something and someone, not because you have to but because you want to.

But then there’s that dull pain in the back of his head, and Doyoung groans. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Doyoung brushes the pain off, however it’s getting near impossible to avoid it.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. I just realized, that it would be best for me to go.”

Jaehyun frowns. “Is that you saying? Or the System?”

“Me.” Doyoung gets up to get dressed. He puts on his monochrome attire and feels again, like he’s from a black and white movie, compared to Jaehyun’s colourful house. Jaehyun watches him with an unreadable expression. Doyoung doesn’t want to decipher those alluring eyes; he knows he’s this close to ignoring the warning signs in his head and staying with Jaehyun forever.

“Doyoung,” Jaehyun grabs his wrist when the man is nearly out of the apartment, voice soft and almost pleading, “please stay.”

“I-I’m sorry. But I can’t.” He checks if he took all of his belongings and turns the doorknob. Doyoung gives Jaehyun one last look before shutting his eyes closed and finally feeling the headache subside. “I won’t come back.”

Doyoung comes back. 

He comes back three weeks later, in desperate need of Jaehyun’s comfort. During those three weeks Doyoung’s mind nearly went off its rails, craving for Jaehyun’s touch, his soft smell of peaches, his dimples. He needed colour, he needed the soft of emotion only the Lower and Jaehyun could provide.

The Higher was dull, and that was a well known fact. There was technology around every corner, innovations and brand new instalments, yet it was the opposite of alive. The thought itself made Doyoung take two repressants daily instead of one. 

He could say he was doing pretty well, sitting at his desks and filling out forms online, until his most modern Device beeped with a message from Johnny. Doyoung forgets how to breathe. He hadn’t talked to Johnny ever since Taeyong got arrested, which was a long while ago. A trickle of sweat made its way to Doyoung’s back as he accepted Johnny’s request to meeting up. Confrontation was inevitable. 

“So,” Johnny draws out, a cigarette in between his fingers and smoke in front of his tired eyes, “Mr. Moon’s new favourite, huh?”

Doyoung reddens in embarrassment. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” Johnny sounds almost mad, which is extremely uncharacteristic of him. Doyoung is at a loss.

“Johnny…” he whispers, eyes downcast onto his own fingers. For someone who loved everything neat and pretty his nails sure were ugly. “I’m deeply sorry.”

Johnny huffs out so much smoke a cloud forms around his head. “I know you are. Your eyes hold guilt and remorse, only that and nothing more.”

Doyoung is quiet. 

“Taeyong doesn’t blame you, neither do I.”

“But–”

“No but’s, Doyoung. It wasn’t your fault and both of us know that. However, now you _should_ know whatever the System you got yourself into? Affiliating yourself with the Head of the Party, really? Have you lost your goddamn mind?”

Doyoung’s throat feels dry and yet he takes the cigarette Johnny offers him. “Johnny-ssi, you _know_ I’m a mere subordinate. Mr. Moon invited me to his office, told me about the partnership of our company with the Party, and just so happens that Confederate Jung was there. It’s scary Johnny-ssi,” Doyoung buries his face in his hands in frustration, “they’re buying my silence. I can’t do anything.”

He feels Johnny pat him on the back a couple of times, before pulling him into a side-hug. It’s both comfortable and not, but to Doyoung it’s more than okay. 

“He said he wanted to see you.”

Doyoung stiffens in Johnny’s hold. “What are the visiting hours?”

“Mondays to Fridays from nine to three. You should go.”

“I will.”

For the first time, Johnny smiles that evening. “Good.”

Doyoung schedules a visit three business days later for two. He had called Taeil earlier to say that he was feeling unwell, and because of his perfect attendance Taeil’s hologram gave him a smile and let him off without a word. 

Modern prisons are haunting. They’re completely white and Doyoung can’t decide whether they’re supposed to look like the afterlife or some asylum. He gives the security guard, an aged man of sixty, his ID and in return gets escorted to Taeyong’s cell. It’s light and spacious, but something about the atmosphere throws Doyoung off. It’s too creepy. 

Taeyong gives him a weak smile upon seeing Doyoung’s figure. His hair has grown and is dyed back to black, and his eyes are blank, lacking the spark he has always had.

“Is he okay?” Doyoung asks the guard.

“He’s perfectly fine. A little out of it because of the side effects of his medication, but perfectly fine.”

Doyoung clenches his fist. “What are you doing to him?”

“As far as I know the doctors are moulding him back into appropriate shape. So that he’ll stay true the System and all that.”

“That’s brainwashing.”

“It’s better than a life sentence or death.”

“It _is_ death.”

“Young man,” the guard types in digits onto the electric panel of the cell, making the laser bars disappear in a flash, “our reality has no happy ending.”

Doyoung ponders over the harsh truth of his words, but then redirects his attention to Taeyong. He looks healthier, happier, almost, if not for his blank eyes, devoid of emotion. Doyoung’s heart hurts. 

“Taeyong..” he starts, “how are you?”

“Good,” Taeyong’s smile is equally blank. “I know you’ve been worrying about me, but you shouldn’t have. They’re taking good care of me here.”

“That’s relieving.”

“It’s been a while,” Taeyong says while looking at his bruised knuckles. Doyoung’s wonders where he could have gotten the bruises from.

“It has. I’m sorry I haven’t visited sooner.”

“It’s okay, Doyoung-ssi. I have been informed that I’ll be let free soon, so we can catch up on missed time then.”

Doyoung’s eyes smile weakly. He wants to hug Taeyong out of comfort and hope, but the laser bars suddenly appear to separate them. 

“Ah,” Taeyong says, “It’s time.” 

Doyoung checks his watch. It was three. 

“I’ll see you soon, Taeyong-ssi. Hopefully.”

Taeyong waves at him. “You will!”

The same guard escorts Doyoung back and returns him his ID. “Here you go.”

“Thank you very much.” Doyoung bows and then hesitantly asks, “He is never going to be the same, is he?”

“Unfortunately.” The guard shakes his head. 

Doyoung puts away his documents into the inner pocket of his blazer slowly. His lips are thinned out into a straight line, but he doesn’t say anything after that. Truthfully, he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to feel. He _can’t_ feel.

There are only two things on his mind right now: guilt and Jaehyun. He desperately wants to see Jaehyun. He catches the shuttle to the Lower, bribes the conductor again, feels the soft concrete of the ground again. He feels almost relieved, but then remembers that he doesn’t remember where Jaehyun lives. Nor does he know where the man works. 

Doyoung punches the nearest wall out of frustration. His knuckles bruise just like Taeyong’s did. Red and purple blossom on his skin, and it’s the most colour Doyoung has ever worn in his life.

“Shit.”

In a hopeless attempt he meanders to the bar where Jaehyun and he met, however there’s a different bartender tending to the customers. There’s chestnut red hair instead of the familiar pink, a leaner figure, less muscular arms. Definitely not Jaehyun. Doyoung’s shoulders slump and he opts for a drink.

“A cocktail please.” 

The bartender obliges. He whisks up a blue cocktail in mere seconds. It’s good, but not as good as Jaehyun’s, or maybe Doyoung just prefers strawberry. Minutes pass in comfortable silence, as silent as bars can be at four in the evening. Doyoung observes the bartender, looks at his name-tag.

“Sicheng-ssi, do you by chance know of Jaehyun?”

The bartender’s eyes narrow for a split second. “And who is asking?”

“Doyoung.”

Sicheng leans forward to whisper. “Kim Doyoung?”

Doyoung nods. The bartender’s lips curl upwards almost mischievously. He puts his hand on his hip, another one on the bar table. “What happened to saying that you won’t be returning?”

“How do you know of that?”

Sicheng smirks. “I know everything.” He takes out a notepad and a pen from the breast pocket of his uniform shirt and scribbles something without even touching the notepad.

“Here.” Sicheng rips out a sheet and hands it over to Doyoung. “His address. He might come home very late, it depends on his shift to be honest, but that’s all I know.”

Doyoung looks at the neat handwriting. “Thank you. But I don’t know how to get there…”

“And your Device?”

“Left it at the Higher. Can’t risk anything.”

“Sneaky.” Sicheng’s smile is pretty. He rips out another sheet from the notepad and draws directions. “It won’t take you long to reach his place. Maybe fifteen minutes or so.”

Doyoung takes the sheet and examines the map. It looks simple, and Doyoyng has never had problems with directions either way.  
“Thank you again.” 

“Go on.” Sicheng says. “He’s been waiting.”

Doyoung wastes no time. He pays for the cocktail in cash, gives Sicheng a generous tip for the help, and leaves. 

The walk is shorter than Doyoung had thought; he reaches Jaehyun’s place before he knows it. It’s a simple apartment complex, about four storeys high, with a bright red roof. Doyoung remembers the building, but only vaguely because was busy with Jaehyun during the way they stumbled into the apartment somehow. Doyoung checks the room number. A thick four stares back at him. 

The apartment has no elevator, nor any teleportation unit, for obvious reasons. Doyoung uses the stairs to reach Jaehyun’s flat. They creak with each step but Doyoung likes the sound. It sounds real. The Lower itself is so so real to Doyoung.

He hastily knock on the door since there’s no doorbell. Doyoung chews on his bottom lip in fear that Jaehyun’s out somewhere until only the System knows when. He knocks harder, but there’s no response. 

“Is he really not there?” Doyoung mutters to himself. The holographic numbers on his watch show that isn’t a quarter to five. He paces around the floor until five, and eventually decided to wait in a nearby café. It’s down the road, an the prices are cheap, so Doyoung kills time with ease. He watches the news on the café’s old television, and by six goes back. 

His second attempt is successful. Doyoung only knocks once before he hears a faint _“Coming!”_ and hears the locks undo themselves. Jaehyun opens the door with surprised eyes before he lunges forward. 

“Doyoung!”

Doyoung hugs him back.

“Oh God, how I missed you.” Jaehyun says, voice muffled by how hard he’s pressing his face into Doyoung’s neck. 

Jaehyun’s hair is now purple and even fluffier than Doyoung rememberers. Doyoung relaxes in his embrace, although he doesn’t know how to respond. Did he miss Jaehyun? He thought over the times he wondered about Jaehyun during work, in his lonely apartment, every single day, even though they’ve only spent one night together. He often found himself wondering whether Jaehyun thought of him too, often mused about Jaehyun’s honey eyes and soft voice whenever he could, reminisced over the way his cherry lips tasted over his own. The answer was quite obvious. 

“I missed you too.”

“Really?” Jaehyun’s eyes are hopeful. 

“Of course.” 

There’s that shining smile. Jaehyun squishes Doyoung’s cheeks and plants a kiss onto his lips. It’s tender and it’s all Doyoung has ever dreamed about. 

“You said you wouldn’t come back.”

“I know. I say that every time I come here.”

Jaehyun laughs. “You do, actually. And I’ll be the one to say I’m glad you’re back.”

Doyoung feels a wave of emotion overflowing him and hugs Jaehyun tighter. He rests his neck on Jaehyun’s shoulder and closes his eyes. He feels at peace.

“Would you like to come inside? I can tell you about all of the species of plants I have.”

“I’d love that.”

Jaehyun shows him his handwritten books, ancient books about the flora and fauna that once used to grace the Earth, his sketches, everything he possesses. Doyoung marvels at the feel of real paper, it’s wooden smell, it’s texture. He wishes humanity hadn’t cut down the last tree during the nuclear war.

Jaehyun’s books are a complete novelty to people of his generation, even though they’re ancient. Auctions sell paper books for millions, a lot are kept in museums, but most have been destroyed. Gone, taking ancient history down with each burnt page as they turned into ashes. To Doyoung, it’s both surreal and saddening. Now, there are no plants or animals on the Higher. Special machines overseas produce oxygen, that their country imports. Truth be told, Doyoung knows nothing about them. The borders had closed when his grandfather was still alive.

_“Doyoungie, this planet was so so beautiful.”_ That’s all Doyoung remembers him mention when he was five and oblivious.

“Do you ever wonder how we exist without actual trees to produce us oxygen?”

Doyoung hums, “Import?”

“No, no.” Jaehyun says. “Seaweed. The oceans contain so much seaweed.”

“Seaweed?”

“Yes. Although now quite rare, it’s surprisingly not that radioactive, and that’s how we breathe. Cool, right? I’d love to see the oceans someday.”

Doyoung sighs. “Me too. I wish we could go abroad.”

“To Mars? Or Venus?”

“No,” Doyoung shakes his head, “ to neighbouring countries, for example. Despite the propaganda I heard they’re quite beautiful.”

“They are.” Jaehyun says. “I’ve been out of this country a couple of times for expeditions.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen. Not anyone could leave their country. 

“We had to go to the remains of the tropics to look for extremely rare species of plant there. I even managed to see the Amazon river, even though it’s not a river anymore.”

“Jaehyun, just _who_ are you?”

Jaehyun laughs again. “You keep asking that, but it doesn’t matter who I used to be. Right now, I’m just an Errored.” He takes out another book, flips it over to its twentieth page. “Look here,” he points at an illustration, however Doyoung can only look at Jaehyun.

His eyes are as dark brown as Doyoung’s, but somehow they hold so much colour in them, Doyoung can’t look away. Jaehyun’s dressed in clothes of simple material, yet he looks so soft, so elegant, makes himself and his attire look rich. The tattoo that decorates his neck is beautiful. Doyoung looks down at his attire, his naked skin, touches his black hair; he feels extremely plain compared to Jaehyun and his colourful palette of a body.

He briefly wonders what would it be like to live a life like Jaehyun’s – on the run, but free. What would it be like to have thoughts of his own, to make his own decisions, no matter if they’re good or bad, to have his own free will. There’s tiredness prominent on his face, under his eyes, on his forehead, his slumped shoulders and his frown from being controlled all his life. Doyoung wonders what Jaehyun’s perception of happiness is – is it the freedom of thought? Speech? Is it the colour in his hair and clothes and skin? Is Jaehyun happy?

Doyoung asks him that. “Jaehyun, are you happy?”

“Happiness is a vague term.” Jaehyun replies, “but I can say one thing. I am happy when you’re here.”

Doyoung hides his face in his hands. “You can’t just say things like that.”

A cheeky smirk. “Why’s that?”

“You make me feel… things. Things that I’ve never felt before.”

Jaehyun laughs, “That’s quite romantic.”

Doyoung doesn’t know how to respond, so he averts the topic just slightly. “But really, are you happy here? Being an Errored?”

Jaehyun sighs. “It’s complicated, Doyoung. I can’t say yes but I can’t say no either. What is happiness? It is subjective. I like the freedom, but I’m not free at all. I don’t like looking for jobs every month, nor do I like taking precautions wherever I go. I’m not safe here, and yet the Lower is the safest place for me. But I would never return to my previous lifestyle, no matter what, because I was miserable. I don’t regret going against the System. Do you get it?”

“I do.”

“Why’re you asking?” 

“I don’t know..” Doyoung says, “I’m just curious about what’s it like to live your life.”

Jaehyun smirks again, “Want to find out?”

The first thing Jaehyun tells him is to stop taking repressants.

“These pills suppress your emotions, not only the ones you want to get rid of. They stop making you feel, stop making you human. Stop taking them for at least a month, and let yourself feel. The withdrawal symptoms are going to be tough, but everything will be alright, learning how to deal with emotions by yourself is the first step to feeling free.”

“But–”

“Don’t worry,” Jaehyun takes Doyoung’s hand in his reassuringly, then presses a soft kiss to his cheek. “I know you got this.”

Although Jaehyun did warn Doyoung about the withdrawal symptoms, he didn’t specify just how intense they were. Firstly, Doyoung experiences horrible pain all over his body, ranging from headaches to stomach pains. Jaehyun had said it was the body’s natural reaction, and it took all of Doyoung’s willpower to not pop in a repressant and call it a day. But he resists, and all is alright, until he experiences sudden waves of emotions crashing onto him from all corners possible.

It’s hard. Really hard, but it’s thrilling, too. Anger, sadness, joy, regret – Doyoung feels them all. 

He looks at his tear stained cheeks in the mirror, wipes fresh tears away. _“Is this what it’s like to feel?”_ He asks himself. It’s… weird, foreign, he can’t decide whether he likes the feelings. 

At some point, it hurts, and it hurts a lot. 

“Jaehyun, I don’t like this,” Doyoung says, “I don’t know why, but my heart hurts so much.” 

“It’s okay,” Jaehyun comforts him, kissing his eyelids, “It’s the raw emotions you’re finally experiencing after years of suppressing. You’ll be alright.”

“When will the pain stop?”

Jaehyun smiles. “Soon.”

The pain does stop, and replaces itself with unexplainable joy. Doyoung feels over the moon at the thought of going to the Lower and meeting Jaehyun, spending time with him, kissing him. He can’t stop his heart from beating fast or the growing feeling of giddiness of spreading throughout his body, and these are the emotions he actually likes experiencing. 

“Is this what you mean – feel – when you say you’re glad to see me?” Doyoung’s face finds a permanent home in the crook of Jaehyun neck, where somehow things always fall into place.

“Yes, exactly that.” Jaehyun hugs him tight, strong arms circled around Doyoung’s bony frame. 

Doyoung feels light but grounded. “I’m very glad to see you, too.” He feels Jaehyun smile. “Like really. I… missed you. A lot.”

Jaehyun’s eyes soften. “Every time you leave, I feel my heart break over and over because of how much I miss you,” he kisses Doyoung slowly. “But it’s alright, because despite my worries you come back and unknowingly stitch the broken pieces back together.” 

Doyoung feels his heartstrings being tugged at in all directions, suddenly overwhelmed. He feels himself tear up, and he doesn’t even know why.

“I had no idea you felt this way.”

Jaehyun wipes away his pearls of sparse tears, features gentle. “When your feelings are strong for someone, even a minute apart is painful.”

Doyoung plants a kiss to both of Jaehyun’s dimples, then traces Jaehyun’s neck tattoo carefully with loving eyes. “What flower is that?” He asks with a whisper.

“A peach blossom.”

A week later everything subsides. Doyoung doesn’t have sudden three a.m. urges to down a whole bottle of repressants anymore, nor does he feel excessive headaches. He feels normal, actually. Learning to control emotions was rather easy, however pretending that you can’t feel them is another. Doyoung is quiet during work, never speaking up or making wrong moves. At some point it makes him anxious, afraid that someone will notice his odd behaviour and report him to the Party, but nothing of sorts happens. Doyoung is alone in his apartment, alone in his car on the way to work, alone in his huge office room.

He and Taeil don't make small talk as often, Taeil being busy with this and that, so Doyoung just pretends that things are just like they were before. And they are – to some extent – only now during the evenings every three days he abandons his luxurious life and runs to the Lower, all to see Jaehyun.

“I wish we could exchange contacts,” He mumbles into the crook of Jaehyun’s neck.

“You know that it’s impossible,” Jaehyun cards his fingers through Doyoung’s hair, “I don’t have a Device for obvious reasons and a possibility of us being in contact will impose a risk to both of us.”

“I know.” A sigh. “I wish I could talk about you to others. It’s driving me insane.”

Jaehyun smirks. “I like being your dirty little secret.”

“Stop it,” Doyoung mutters, but there’s no real bite in his voice.

“You know I’m just teasing, I myself am relieved I can talk about you to Sicheng. No matter his complaints, he listens.”

Doyoung remembers that name. “Ah, so that’s how he knows about me. I didn’t know he was your friend.”

“You offend me, Doyoung, I am not some loner, of course I have friends.”

Doyoung gives him a sad smile, and Jaehyun’s eyes drop. “Isn’t Johnny your friend?”

“I can’t agree nor deny. You know how the Higher works – friends are a convenience. However I wouldn’t call my boss my friend. Johnny though? He comes close. But I’m still hesitant to call him that– I’ve never had friends.”

Jaehyun gasps. He takes both of Doyoung’s and intertwined them with his own. His eyes are so so starry. “I can be your friend.” 

“I don’t think friends kiss and make out that much.”

Jaehyun shakes his head. “Lovers can be friends, and friends can be lovers.”

Doyoung swoons. Jaehyun has a nice way with words; Doyoung likes the way Jaehyun thinks. “I suppose you’re right,” he agrees, giving him a kiss. He notices he kisses Jaehyun a lot these days. 

Another thing Doyoung notices is how he doesn’t stick to routine anymore. He doesn’t brush his teeth for exactly two minutes anymore, doesn’t get up at seven sharp, doesn’t go to bed when the holographic alarm tells him too He doesn’t wait to for the clock to strike six so he could leave his office, for simply he doesn’t care enough, and moreover, he’s not bound to his routine’s chains anymore. It’s exhilarating. His arms, shoulders, legs feel light. Is this the freedom he craved of? 

Doyoung sits by his bed and looks at his window. The image of a blooming spring peaks out from the clear white curtains, complemented by the artificial sun rays, and all Doyoung can think of is Jaehyun and his flower neck tattoo. He thinks of Jaehyun’s hushed words, rosy cheeks, his delicate arms and pink hair. Doyoung has never experienced actual spring, no, but has read about it a lot, and he can firmly say that Jaehyun is like spring to him. It’s the feeling of warmness after months of coldness, it’s the melting snow, flowers blooming, the beginning of life; Doyoung sighs at the thought of how Jaehyun opened a whole another life for him. 

Time with Jaehyun is sacred – Doyoung knows it’s very limited, that both of them are constricted, but he can’t help but daydream about late Saturday nights spent in each other’s embrace. 

“What’s got you so dreamy?” Johnny asks over lunch. Smoking is forbidden so he excessively chews gum to have his mouth occupied with something. Johnny’s hair is back to black, and Doyoung misses his brown already. 

“Oh,” Doyoung snaps out of his thoughts, “Well…”

Johnny smirks slightly, “Is it a someone?”

Doyoung gulps, and Johnny is overjoyed. “Spill! Now.” He almost bangs his fists onto the table with excitement, “Who is it?”

Doyoung fidgets for a moment. Does he trust Johnny enough to tell him a secret as big? But then he remembers how Johnny trusted _him_ to tell him about his lost brother, and fuck it, Doyoung leans a little over Johnny’s personal space and whispers, careful of being overheard. “Someone from the Lower.”

Johnny’s eyes widen. “Really? Oh my System, when do you even have time for that? I mean, no offense, but I’ve always regarded you as the job first life second type.” 

Doyoung is already embarrassed to no ends, but he laughs. “I was like that before, yes… but I changed.”

“That’s awesome,” Johnny says, “I’m very proud. Glad you opened your eyes.” He blows a bubble out of the gum. “There’s more to life than following orders.”

Their hug is short-lived, but comfortable. Doyoung wonders whether Johnny’s an Errored for a second but instead asks, “Any news about your brother?”

Johnny shakes his head. “No.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, Doyoung.” Johnny stays silent for a while, then speaks up. “He wasn’t my brother.”

“What?”

“He was a very close friend of mine. Our parents were close, too. I considered him my brother. Haven’t seen him in so long.”

“Oh,” Doyoung replies flatly. “What was his name?”

“Sicheng.”

Doyoung blinks. “He’s alive.”

_“What?”_

“Johnny, he’s alive. I met him. He’s Jaehyun’s friend, oh my System, Johnny!” 

“Doyoung, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not.” He takes out the crumpled note of the directions to Jaehyun’s apartment. “He drew and wrote this for me.”

Johnny examines the paper with shaking arms. Then, he crumples the piece again and wipes away a stray tear with the back of his palm. “It’s his handwriting.” 

Doyoung softens. “Johnny, come to the Lower with me tonight.”

Johnny nods.

“I will.”

At seven in the evening Doyoung spots Johnny by the shuttle station, making small talk with the conductor usually Doyoung bribes. 

Johnny looks laidback, but Doyoung can see the excited glimmer in his eyes. Johnny must’ve missed Sicheng a lot.

“Johnny!” He calls. Both men turn in his direction. Doyoung boards the shuttle, dragging Johnny. He gives the conductor a few golden coins and sits back. Johnny sits opposite of him, also by the window.

“Quite colourful, isn’t it.” He points to the view. Doyoung laughs. The tunnel they’re in is pitch black. 

The ride is fairly quiet. Doyoung kind of likes that he has company this time; the deafening silence dissipating by Johnny’s chatter. 

Once they disembark the ship, Johnny stares. At the buildings, at the streets. They’re all so bright.

“I feel so bad.”

“Why?”

“In the midst of searching for Sicheng, I did work here. All of that construction is the result of my job… I am guilty of ruining this city.”

Doyoung shakes his head. “Did you forget that this was initially my job? I’m just as guilty, if not more. Come on, I know where to go.”

Johnny follows, a growing grin on his face. “When are you going to introduce me to your lover boy?” How did Johnny find out he preferred men?

“You know him.”

Johnny nearly halts in his steps. “Wait. But I only recall one young man. I think he had pink hair. Is it…? Oh my System, it _is_ him! You’re blushing!”

“Shut it.” Doyoung grumbles, “We’re here.” He holds the door open to the bar where he and Jaehyun properly got to know each other. It hasn’t changed in the span of a month, if anything, it’s more crowded and the music is louder. Doyoung spots a rather familiar mop of auburn hair by the bar, wiping the bottles of alcohol clean. Sicheng swirls around, as if on cue, lips stretching into a smile at the sight of Doyoung, then instantly falling at the sight of the man behind him. He drops a bottle of wine right onto his feet. 

“J-Johnny?”

“Sicheng, brother.” Johnny is already emotional, “My, how you’ve grown.”

In a daze, Sicheng picks up the glass pieces of the bottle, careful so as not to accidentally cut himself. “What are you doing here? Oh, goodness,” he takes out a rectangular device, dials random numbers and puts it next to his ear, “Jaehyun, come to the bar right now.” 

Doyoung watches Johnny extend his arms, as if waiting for Sicheng to dive into his embrace, but the latter does none of that. Instead, Sicheng is close to hyperventilating, crouched onto the ground, boots and apron soaked in wine. 

“Johnny, you shouldn’t be here.” He finally days after he stands up, eyes filled with worry to the brim. “It’s so dangerous here. Doyoung, you keep coming back, too. You shouldn’t. They’re going to find you.”

His words are soft against the loud music of the bar; Doyoung barely manages to catch them. Johnny is evidently frowning, not knowing how to reply himself. 

“Sicheng, pour us a drink, alright? A drink for yourself too. Let’s have a talk.”

Sicheng obliges, mixing up four colourful cocktails with shaking hands, although his expression is calm. He sits on the hovering stool just as he slides the drinks over to Doyoung and Johnny. Doyoung smiles at the familiar pink and red, Jaehyun must’ve told Sicheng his regular drink. The cocktail next to him remains full and the stool remains empty. 

“Alright, drink up.” 

Johnny takes a careful sip. “This is good. I never would’ve thought you’d go for tending drinks though. I remember drawing was your passion.”

“It still is,” Sicheng smiles that wicked smile of his, lips outstretching into a wicked grin, and it’s oddly charming. He rolls up the sleeves up to his elbows, revealing toned arms that are adorned with colourful tattoos. Doyoung is in awe.

“Did you…?” Doyoung asks, obviously staring. 

“If you’re asking about the peach blossom behind Jaehyun’s ear, then yep, it’s all my job.” Sicheng flexes his muscles, proud. “What’d you think?”

“It’s very pretty.” Johnny says. “But. Did you run away to get tattoos on yourself? Is that it?”

“No, Johnny,” Sicheng sighs, “You don’t quite understand. I was oppressed. All artist were, and still are. ‘Draw us the System’ this, ‘draw us propaganda’ that, it’s _bullshit_. We had no creative freedom whatsoever, we were _silenced_. You really think I could obey and stay still? Impossible! You can’t silence a man willing to fight for the truth.”

Doyoung takes a long sip from his cocktail, hoping for the icy liquid to somehow relax his mind. Ease his _guilt_, of having let himself get silenced on multiple occasions. Sicheng fought, Doyoung didn’t. He is too much of a coward to do so. 

The hovering stool next to him dips, and suddenly there’s a warm hand on his shoulder that draws him in to give Doyoung a kiss on the forehead. 

Doyoung knows only one person who kisses so tenderly.

“Jaehyun.” He breathes out.

“That’s me.” A dimpled smile. “Sicheng. Johnny. What’s the occasion?”

“A family reunion,” Doyoung half whispers. Sicheng is talking about self-expression and how he wasn’t allowed to do what he wanted most.

“They straight up jailed those who went against orders. So many of my colleagues are now behind bars… So many talented souls… God,” Sicheng slams his fist onto the table, “to this day this makes me mad. I couldn’t stay still upon seeing the whole turmoil go down, I wouldn’t even if I wanted to. So of course I ran away. Got rid of the System before it could get rid of me.”

Johnny nods, “I understand. I’m not upset… I just… missed you so much. I took over Doyoung’s job and searched for you here for months but I just couldn’t find you anywhere. I was starting to lose hope. I did lose hope, if I were to be honest.”

Sicheng softens visibly. “I missed you too. I thought about going to the Higher many times, but it would’ve been unsafe for us both, so I refrained. But anyway, how are you and your girlfriend doing?”

Johnny grins and flashes a silver band sitting around his ring finger. “Just fine.”

Jaehyun gasps. “Dude! Congratulations!”

“Why, thank you. Shall we celebrate?”

Doyoung doesn’t remember how he left the bar, nor does he have any recollection of waking up in Jaehyun’s bed again, naked, and with a massive hungover, but there he is. 

It’s eight in the morning on a Saturday, and Jaehyun’s still asleep, so Doyoung does some morning yoga and then carefully waters the plants. Jaehyun taught him a lot about nature over the weeks, and Doyoung finds himself having a handful of knowledge about flora and fauna too. He smiles. It’s nice. 

He trails to the kitchen, determined to whip up a decent breakfast. Jaehyun’s cupboards are filled with foods he doesn’t know the name of nor does he know how to cook, so he opts for spaghetti. It’s not the perfect breakfast, but it’ll satisfy hunger for a while and in all honestly, that’s all Doyoung knows how to cook. Doyoung sings to himself while he waits for the water to boil, lost in his world. He thinks about Johnny’s engagement, about how his own mother keeps asking when is she going to have grandchildren, about Sicheng, and how Doyoung hasn’t spoken to his own brother in years, and plops the spaghetti into the water.

He doesn’t get to ponder over nothingness more, as he feels strong arms wrap around his waist and a chin being propped onto his shoulder.

“Breakfast, eh? That’s quite domestic.”

Doyoung almost swoons. “It’s just spaghetti. Nothing special.”

“It is special, because you’re cooking for me,” is all that Jaehyun replies. He sways their bodies back and forth in a soundless melody, “You stayed.” 

Doyoung gives him a kiss. “It’s Saturday, so I can afford to stay for longer. But I must go soon.”

Jaehyun turns Doyoung around so the latter would face him, locking his arms behind the small of Doyoung’s back. He pulls Doyoung closer, almost into a hug. “I wish you didn’t have to run between the Levels so often.”

Doyoyng sighs quietly. “Say, Jaehyun, when did you become an Errored?”

Jaehyun’s hums against his neck. “Four years ago, maybe five. I don’t remember, really. Why?”

“I’m just thinking… Actually, I’ve thought about this for weeks now.”

“About what?” A curious smile. Curious sparkling eyes. Doyoung strokes Jaehyun’s cheek. 

“Well,” he turns around for a moment to turn off the boiling water, “about, you know, staying with you. For good.”

“Huh?”

“Jaehyun, I want to be with you. I want to be _one_ of you. I don’t want to live a life full of lies, of being bribed for my silence, of knowing that I am contributing to a horrible system. I never wanted such a life. I want to wake up next to you, I want to spend Saturdays lazing around with you, I want to know more about nature and about our planet, I want a life not spent by being indifferent, but by doing something good, and doing that with you.”

Jaehyun laughs, but he kisses Doyoung deeply, pushing him so his back touched the coldness of the counter Arms roam over his torso, and something tells Doyoung that they won’t be eating breakfast any time soon. “How did you know I was up to something?” Jaehyun murmurs against his lips, quiet, eyes amused. 

A little smirk. “I had a hunch.”

A day later Doyoung finds himself in a rundown underground facility, hidden from the public eye, with Jaehyun beside him. 

“Are you sure about _that?”_

“Most definitely.”

“Alright. This is Yuta’s place. He’s a surgeon, by the way, and he does operations on people here. We go way back. Actually, he’s the one who helped me become an Errored.”

Despite being underground, the place they’re in is bright. Oddly, it reminds Doyoung of the place he went to when he visited Taeyong, only Yuta’s surgery has no eerie vibe, despite also being white all over. In fact, it’s somehow resembles an apartment.

“I’ll call Yuta in right now, we’ll have a talk, then if you still haven’t changed your mind, we’ll get to it.”

Doyoyng nods. He sits down on the only grey armchair in the room, meanwhile Jaehyun stands and uses a device that Sicheng used to call for his friend.

Yuta appears a minute later, dressed in a long white coat, fiery red hair tied up into a messy ponytail, arms in his pockets. Goggles hang around his neck like some accessory, and his ears are pierced in constellations. Doyoung notices how his right hand is not human. There’s no flesh, no bones, only robotic metal, like the one Doyoung monitored at the android factory. It works just like any other arm.

Yuta’s eyes are electrifying. Smile even more. “Jaehyun,” he greets, “long time no see.”

“It really has been. I brought a new client for you.”

Yuta huffs out a small laughter, “Well that’s new. Who’ve you corrupted?”

“Yuta, please,” Jaehyun whines, face suddenly youthful, “This is Doyoung.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Yuta extends his metal arm. His grip is strong and his accent is thick with laces of countryside. “I don’t know how much you’ve heard about me, but here is where the magic – or curse – happens, whichever definition you prefer.” Doyoung thinks they’re a mixture of both.

“He’s respressant-free, right?”

“Yep.” Jaehyun says, slouching against the clear white wall. 

“Great. Okay, Doyoung-ssi,” Yuta turns to him, “firstly, I’m going to need you to sign a few papers. About how your life is not my responsibility lest something might happen to you. To be honest? Not sure why I even do this; this is illegal anyway. Now, are you one hundred percent sure you’re willing to go through this?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

Yuta puts on his goggles. “Please enter the room to the left. Jaehyun, stay here for a bit. We won’t take long. There’s a coffee machine you can use if you wish.” 

Doyoyng gulps. He realizes his life will be changed forever, but unusually his palms aren’t sweaty and his head doesn’t spin. “Yuta-ssi, what should I do after this?”

Yuta laughs. “Go back home. Take a nap or something. Being an Errored is as big as a flea. You never know who actually is an Errored up there. Only the ones who were caught are down here, including Jaehyun and I. Live your life, man. But first, I’m going to need you to take of your shirt and sit down on that chair.”

Doyoung does just that. The air is cold, and goosebumps appear on his skin. However, he’s oddly calm about everything. He feels calm when Yuta’s icy arm traces a line from his shoulder to his neck, calm when his human arm angles his head more to the side, calm when the android arm suddenly pierces through his skin in a swift motion and takes out a small beeping chip. Doyoung bleeds, but only a little, since Yuta quickly tends to the wound, patching it up as if nothing had happened. Doyoung exhales.

“All done. Quick, right? And yet the effect is anything but that...”

“What did you do?” Doyoung itches to touch his neck, but Yuta swats his neck away. There’s a bit of blood on his coat and goggles.

“Took out the chip they use for the System to control us. Repressants aren’t the only things messing with our emotions and our state of minds, you know? This chip makes us follow the System, whether you want it or not. Without it, you’re as free as a bird. However birds aren’t around anymore. Anyway!” Yuta rambles, “I didn’t destroy the chip, as it’s the indication that you’re a follower; if you get rid of it entirely, the System – the Party – will know. Keep it somewhere safe,” he drops the chip in Doyoung’s palm, then proceeds to wash the blood on his metal arm away. Doyoung stays still in the chair, gazing at tiny object in his big hand. It’s almost surreal.

“You’re a quiet one, huh?” Yuta huffs, “But it’s alright. The less you talk, the more you think. Couldn’t be me. I try not to think too much, or I’ll drive myself to suicide. Sicheng says I’m dumb for having such a mindset but it really do be like that sometimes.” He laughs without any tone of lightness in his voice, takes his goggles off, then takes off the tie off of his ponytail. His hair, silky and long, is pretty. His piercings dangle left and right, silver and shiny. 

“Jaehyun must be waiting.” Yuta then says, accented voice sounding soft. He places the goggles on his desk instead of putting them on his neck again, and takes off his lab coat. He’s shorter than Doyoung, by a few inches, but his build makes him appear longer. His android arm extends right from his shoulder; it’s dark grey, as if a rain cloud, but it doesn’t look out of place. Somehow, it fits Yuta.

“Can I ask, um, about your…?”

“Arm?” Yuta interrupts, “Sure. I get those questions a lot. Believe it or not, I removed the chip from myself by this very hand, only it was still by own flesh. I was a licensed neurosurgeon, so this was nothing. However, I struck a nerve because of my carelessness, and the arm got paralyzed, so I had to get it amputated. Instead, I bought an android arm and it’s as good as new,” Yuta flexes his metallic muscles, “It’s more practical, too. Get ready, okay?”

Doyoung hums and buttons his shirt, puts on his blazer and puts the chip in his front pocket. He’s still calm. In fact, he finally feels at peace. He feels light all over, from his head all over to his toes, as if an unimaginable weight has been listen off his shoulders – a weight in the form of a minuscule chip. It’s a breath of fresh air, it’s uplifting, indescribable, so _so_ nice. Like things have fallen back into place, like this is they way they were supposed to be all along. 

Jaehyun is shining in the comfort of the four white walls, eyes closed and expression serene. Doyoung kisses his hair while Yuta makes stale coffee for himself. Once they’re alone in the room, Jaehyun speaks. 

“Did you already finish everything?”

“Yeah,” Doyoung whispers. 

“How was it? How do you feel?”

“I feel good. Very good.”

“That’s nice,” Jaehyun pulls Doyoung down for a proper kiss. “Very nice.” His voice is smooth and velvety, and Doyoung loves every inch of it. Jaehyun smiles, teasingly but his eyes are forever kind, “I guess I should welcome you to the real world then, Mr. Errored.”

Strangely, things are smooth after that. Reluctantly, Doyoung goes back to his lonely apartment, with a kiss full of promises from Jaehyun and a pat on the back from Yuta. He goes to work, sits through meetings, works in his office, has drinks with Taeil. It’s rather chill.

“Doyoung,” Taeil singsongs, pouring him a drink, “Today is a lovely grey day, isn’t it?” He doesn’t give Doyoung a chance to reply before he speaks up again, “And you know why? Because our slogans are selling so well and our androids are being sold left and right. Doyoung, we’re making so much money, it’s tremendous, Doyoung, grandiose, even.”

Doyoung doesn’t trust himself to say anything, not when the sense of sickness starts blooming in the pits of his stomach. Things have never been smooth after all. On the outside though, Doyoung smiles and clanks their glasses as a cheer. 

“All hail the System,” Taeil drinks up, face proud and content. Doyoung feels the exact opposite. He downs the alcohol and it burns in his throat, and he desperately wants to leave, but there’s still that smile on his face, pretending that he agrees. 

It’s easy to pretend, Doyoung realizes, especially when Confederate Jung frequents their corporation and makes himself at home, and Doyoung has to put up a façade around him. The Confederate calls him the son he’s never had, and Doyoung’s stomach twists at these words, but he just smiles. One day, the Confederate is telling Taeil a story about how his own son went against him, four of five years ago, who was an aspiring biologist, someone who didn’t know his own place, and how now he’s wanted.

“I didn’t arrest him, no,” the Confederate explains, “I knew the hooligan wouldn’t survive alone in the slums of the Lower.”

“You absolute madman,” Taeil comments, eyes mischievous, expression sly, “leaving your own son to die.”

“He’s not my son no more!” Confederate Jung heaves, laughter falling from his old chapped lips, “No child of mine dares to go against _me_ and the System. If he’s alive, however, I won’t hesitate to take action, if you know what a mean.” 

Taeil claps his hands, joining in on the laughter, but to Doyoung none of this is humorous. He clenches his fist until his knuckles turn white and counts the minutes until the clock strikes six, and leaves with apologies falling from his mouth. Taeil waves him off and the Confederate pats him on the back, telling him to never disobey the System.

Doyoung runs to the nearest bathroom to throw up all of his feelings he’s bottled up inside, his contempt for the Confederate and every single member of the Party, the System in general. He empties his stomach until he can’t feel anymore, until he returns to his old shell, and calls it a day. He goes to sleep that night with the thoughts of how twisted their government is, and how he wishes he were brave enough to fight like Sicheng, however he is but another coward.

When he kisses Jaehyun in his bedroom the next weekend, he has only one thing on his mind.

“You’re the Confederate’s son, aren’t you.”

“I was.” Jaehyun whispers against his neck, “Not anymore.” Another kiss. “Not anymore.”

“It’s okay, Jaehyun,” Doyoung whispers back, “It’s okay.”

“You work for him, don’t you?”

“No. Not directly.”

“Okay.” Jaehyun plays with the hairs on Doyoung’s nape, draws flowers on his shoulders, holds him close. “Even if you did, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“What are you planning to do, Jaehyun?” 

Doyoung’s hands roam around Jaehyun’s torso, trace his biceps, chest, abdomen, back; he interlocks his hands behind Jaehyun’s neck, kisses his flower tattoo. 

“I want to go against the System – against my father and his party.” Jaehyun murmurs, kissing Doyoung’s collarbone. “And I want you to join me.”

“I will.” Doyoung kisses his lips. “Without question.”

Jaehyun smiles sweetly, holding Doyoung even closer. He buries his face in Doyoung’s neck, and his hair tickles Doyoung’s face but he doesn’t mind it one bit.

“I love you,” he whispers, “Maybe it’s too soon for us to discuss feelings or whatever, but I really love you.”

Doyoung stiffens for a second. 

“You don’t have to say anything!” Doyoung opens his mouth then closes it at the same time as Jaehyun puts his hand over his lips, as if afraid of his response. “I just wanted you to know.”

Doyoung angles Jaehyun’s chin with his fingertips to have a proper look at him. Jaehyun’s eyes hold many stars, Doyoung has always noticed, as impossible as that sounds. They’re bright, curious and sparkling, they’re actual galaxies, and Doyoung sighs. Jaehyun watches his expression morph into sheer love. 

“Jaehyun, I do too.”

The kiss that follows the confession is meaningful, full of life, full of _love,_ Doyoung is nearly overwhelmed. But he’s overjoyed; he can feel Jaehyun’s love for him, and he can feel his own love for Jaehyun. It’s a beautiful feeling. Like a missing puzzle piece – with such emotions he feels fulfilled.

“I’m so glad,” Jaehyun whispers again, “so so glad you do.”

“How can I not? You are so so lovely.”

“Stoooop,” Jaehyun grins, ears flaming red. It’s adorable how suddenly he’s shy. “You’re lovely, too. But anyway, if you’re up to it, we can go to Yuta’s place tomorrow, for _you-know-what_.”

“Sure,” Doyoung replies, “but for now let’s sleep.”

Tomorrow comes sooner than expected, and Doyoung finds himself in Yuta’s surgery hideout again, only this time they’re in a hall-like room, wide and spacious, with a whole crowd around them. Yuta and Jaehyun stand by the round table, the former declaring their plans. For a split second it reminds Doyoung of the Party’s meetings, and a chill runs down his spine. He doesn’t expect the atmosphere to be light despite the serious topic, nor does he expect everyone to be involved with the subject at hand. It’s a nice contrast. Not a dictatorship, but a twisted democracy.

“Listen up, folks,” Yuta speaks up. The way both he and Confederate Jung have mechanic arms doesn’t sit well with Doyoung, but he ignores that feelings because Yuta is Jaehyun good friend, and he’s nothing close to his tyrant of a father.

“During the next Victory Parade, which is in two month’s time, we shall bombard the Grand Hall and stop this bullshit once and for all. Although the chances of us succeeding are slim, it is worth letting others know that the System is nothing but a hoax, made for the governing to control us. It strips us of our most important, basic rights – our human rights!”

Jaehyun continues. “Yes. Kun has prepared armour and battle gear for everyone who is up to spar with the military’s up there.” He then shows off a pistol. “Lethal thing, the bullet is poisoned. Do not use it unless your life is at stake, if you’re not in danger then use this–” another weapon is showed, ”– this will only paralyze the person temporarily. Remember, we’re not after blood. We’re after justice.”

Jaehyun then adds, “Leave me to the Confederate. I have a special sniper prepared for him.” 

Yuta goes over the battle plans once again, scribbling over a huge map, and Doyoung watches. He’s half out of it. Has it really been nearly a year since he went to that awful parade? Have he and Jaehyun known each other for so many months already? He exhales. The aforementioned man called Kun hands him a pistol and and a gun that are as light as feathers, and then another man called Ten teaches him how to shoot and aim. It takes a while, the gun foreign in his arms, but he gets used to it.

“Don’t get carried away,” Ten warns, “Once you get the hang of shooting, you might not stop. Considering our mind runs free now. Be careful. Don’t let your emotions consume you.”

“This is exactly what the survivors of the Nuclear War feared, for us to return to the way they were.” Someone in the crowd mutters.

“We’re humans,” Ten pipes in, “It’s in our nature. To destroy. And– history repeats itself after all. A wise man once said that in order to progress as humans we must start over – completely – even if bloodshed is unavoidable.”

“And who’s the wise man?”

“Me.”

“No, you’re not.” Kun hits him in the head. Ten laughs, throwing his head back, showing scars on his neck, and chest. 

“Look, sweetie, I’m here to fight. If you’re not up for that, then sit here in Yuta’s basement and wait until they find you and terminate you. It’s kill or be killed. No in between. Such a world we live in, unfortunately.”

Kun frowns. “What’s gotten into you? I’m just worried about you.”

Doyoung sees Ten soften, so he turns away, afraid he’s intruding in some private moment. He sees Yuta, and Sicheng, alongside Jaehyun, still by the map. Yuta is resting his head on Sicheng’s shoulder, the latter smiling to himself. Doyoung instantly wonders if Sicheng has had another reason to stay here in the Lower all along. 

Jaehyun looks up to meet Doyoung eyes, and calls him over. The banter of the crowd in the hall fades out, and Doyoung enters his and Jaehyun’s little bubble.

“What do you think?” Jaehyun whispers.

“Are you serious about this? It’s dangerous.”

“More than ever. Doyoung, we’ve been waiting for this moment for so long. We have enough men, enough proof, enough weapons. And even if we fail, we will go down in history. We will make people reconsider, we will make them realize – you feel me?”

“I do.”

“Good.” Jaehyun wraps one arm around Doyoung’s waist. “Good.” He says again, then suddenly kisses Doyoung. “I love you.”

Doyoung blushes madly, cheeks scarlet. “We’re in public,” he whisper-shouts, embarrassed profoundly. “And we’re in the middle of discussing a life or death situation here, for System’s sake.” 

Jaehyun laughs. “Say it back.”

“Jaehyun, you know your feelings are returned.”

“Aw, when you’re blush you’re very cute. And don’t try to deny it. But anyway, are you comfortable with holding a gun?”

Doyoung nods, remembering the feel of steel against his palm. 

“Splendid. I should probably not say this, but try not to fight anyone.” Jaehyun’s voice drops, suddenly so quiet Doyoung can barely hear him. “In fact, try not to stand out. Just stay in the black and white crowd, okay?”

“That’s blatant favouritism.”

“It is, and what? I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Doyoung shakes his head. “Jaehyun, I _want_ to fight. I’ve been working this job where I _know_ what’s happening within the higher ups but I don’t do anything – can’t do anything – because I’m scared of being punished. But I'm done being a coward. I cannot accept money, it feels like dirt to me, especially knowing I one way or another contribute to the development of the goddamn System. For Heaven’s sake, the fact that the Lower is losing its colours is all my fault to begin with. I shouldn’t have accepted Taeil’s proposal, shouldn’t have let them meddle with your city.” He sighs. “I want to fight with you, I’ve already said that, I want to make a difference.”

Jaehyun is still frowning, brows knitted, “But, if anything happens to you–”

“What if something happens to _you?_ Do you have any idea how scared I am of losing you, my only happiness in this sad life?”

Jaehyun gasps, but Doyoung interrupts, “Jaehyun, you are the centre of my world, I orbit around you like a planet around a star, I cannot survive without you. If anything were to happen to you– I– Fuck.” He almost sobs. Jaehyun calms him down by wiping away his little tears and whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

“But such is our fate.” Doyoung says. “You and I were never supposed to meet, right? We were initially worlds apart, you and I. You, who knows life and I, who doesn’t. You, who is against the law, and I, who was initially for it.”

“And yet here we are. Fate works wonders.” Jaehyun says, smiling.

“It really does.” Doyoung sighs, wrapping an arm around Jaehyun’s neck. It’s comfortable. “I really like your flower tattoo.”

“Ah, do you?” Dimples form on the sides of Jaehyun’s cheek, pink and growing.

“Yes. It suits you. You’re like an actual peach blossom”.

Jaehyun kisses the tip of Doyoung’s nose and giggles. “You can say I bloom for you.”

When Doyoung comes in to work, Taeil is oddly cheery. His boss greets him kindly, praises him.

“You’re a good kid, Doyoung,” he says, patting Doyoung on the back, even those they’re not at that far apart in age.”So bright and so obedient. It’s a shame, really.”

Doyoung is confused. “What is going on?”

“My dearest Doyoung,” Taeil says, “do you really think that you can sneak to the Lower level without being unnoticed? Do you really think I haven’t noticed your change in behaviour? Or that you’re an Errored?”

Doyoung stills. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb, Doyoung. You’re incredibly smart. And incredibly good at faking things. But, no matter how good you hide, you can’t hide from the government, nor can you run from your fate. Your lover boy and his revolutionists can’t, either.”

Everything goes blank after that. Without a word, Doyoung runs. He runs as fast as he can to his car, drives at insane speed to the shuttle station, runs and runs with last bits of hope that he still has time to warn Jaehyun and the others that they _know_, the Party knows of their uprising and they knew about it all along. 

“No, no, no, _no!_” Doyoung screams. He sees armed men by the shuttle station at the Lower, guns and policemen, sees red. And of course, he sees Confederate Jung.

“Doyoung,” the man calls him over, fat face mixed with an ugly smile. “Do you know what’s happening right now?”

“No,” Doyoung gulps, “No, I don’t, sir.”

“Well, you see,” the Confederate puts an arm around Doyoung’s frame, “months ago, I met an employee of a company. They were quiet and obedient, the perfect example of a good citizen. They instantly interested me. But turns out, they had ties with people who spread misinformation about the System. Naturally, I caught the criminal, got sense knocked into him. But then I decided to keep my eye on the employee. What if they knew more people? What would their actions be?”

Doyoung is frozen, breath caught in his throat.

“Well, turns out they weren’t a good citizen after all. No matter the gifts I gave them, no matter the amount of money that went into their bank account, they still decided to disobey the System, and somehow even wooed my bastard of a son. Why, Doyoung-ssi? Have I not been kind enough to you? Have I not turned a blind eye to your mishaps in the Lower?”

“Sir…”

“Doyoung-ssi, I’ve warned you, and you know this yourself. Don’t disobey the System, don’t go against those who have more power than you. Have you not learnt your lesson from the incident with Taeyong? Didn’t that scare you, Doyoung-ssi?

“But I guess I should be thanking you, since you’ve led us straight to the criminals yet again.”

“Huh?” Doyoung whispers.

“Don’t you get it, Doyoung-ssi, this is all your doing. Without your help we wouldn’t have found their hiding place, wouldn’t have arrested them. I’ve been searching for my failure of a son for five years now, and finally he’s within my arm's reach.”

“Where is he?” His voice is barely a whisper.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Confederate Jung smirks. “Guards, bring him to me.”

Two men shuffle to where Doyoung is standing with the Party’s head. They’re dragging a person behind them, cuffed by laser handcuffs, head downcast. The situation is awfully similar to the one with Taeyong, only now in his place stands Jaehyun, and Doyoung is as affected as one could be.

“There you go.” Confederate Jung says. Doyoung almost flares his way, but he’s too preoccupied by worry. He falls onto his knees, hands instantly reaching out for Jaehyun’s face.

“Are you alright? Jaehyun, how are you holding up?”

Jaehyun smiles. Doyoung hates how pained that smile is. “I’m just peachy, as you can see.”

Doyoung shakes his head. “Is everyone else okay?”

“They’re in the same position as me. We got ambushed.”

“I’m so so sorry,” Doyoung cries, “I had no idea.”

“You shouldn’t be sorry.” Confederate Jung interferes. “You’ve done us a great deal. I’d call you our nation’s hero, but you’re as much of a hero as you are a traitor. Although… Doyoung, would you agree? To be this country’s hero? You’d have it all – fame, money, medals. What else can one wish for?”

Doyoung vaguely remembers the same exact words he was told during Taeyong’s arrest. They repulse him to this day.

“No.” Doyoung says, “I’m no hero.”

The Party’s Head tsks. “Fine. So you admit to being a traitor?”

“No, I’m not a traitor either.”

“Fine. In that case, arrest him, officers.”

Doyoung doesn’t object. He feels the warmth of the laser handcuffs on his skin, but thinks. Past Doyoung would’ve accepted the hoax title, probably, would’ve succumbed to the tyrant, so that he himself would be unscathed. But now, now when Jaehyun is bound to the ground he could never wish for himself to roam free.”

“What’re you gonna do?” Jaehyun laughs, “Kill us now? Isn’t that what you wanted, to have me dead?”

“Humans of the past would’ve hanged you. Every single one of you rebels, but this is the future. I shall not kill you physically, that would be too inhumane.”

“Fuck you,” Jaehyun says through gritted teeth, body inching to attack, but the lasers restrain him. It burns Jaehyun’s skin, until his wrists bleed a deep red, but he doesn’t care. 

“That’s not how you should address your father,” the Confederate says, looking down at him.

“You are not my father.”

“Well, Yoonoh, you are my son. I gave life to you, and I have all of the power to take it away.”

“Do not call me that,” Jaehyun rages. His blouse and trousers are soaked with blood. 

This time, the Confederate kneels to look Jaehyun in the eye. “Wake up, Yoonoh, wake up from your delusions. I’ll give you one last chance. Return to the good side, and you’ll be spared.”

“Never!” Doyoung hears Jaehyun shout. The latter suddenly gets up from the ground, knocking one guard in the side, and the other with his elbow so both of them are trampled over. Then, Jaehyun breaks the laser cuffs with his legs and pulls Doyoung to him, into a bloody kiss. 

“Doyoung, you know I love you, right?,” Jaehyun whispers to him, and Doyoung nods.

“Great. I have approximately five seconds to tell you this but please do me a favour. If you love me in return. Do you have the _thing_ with you?”

“What thing?”

“You know which. What Ten taught you to use.”

“Guards! Get him! Silence him!” The Confederate commands. 

“I do.” Doyoung is breathless. 

“Good,” Jaehyun doesn’t resist as he gets pulled back by a pile of men. “Shoot!” is the last thing Doyoung hears as a gloved hand comes to cover Jaehyun’s mouth, and the latter is silenced.

Doyoung is quick to react. He reaches for the poison filled pistol in his inner pocket of his blazer, the lasers cutting through his wrist. It hurts, and it hurts like hell, but Doyoung is adamant on doing one thing right for once in his life. He aims the pistol at the Confederate, who’s shouting and pointing, and clicks shoot before he gets knocked down onto the ground and sees black.

Doyoung wakes up in a hospital. He looks around to find himself alone in the room, surrounded by deafening silence, save for the machine that is attached to his bed.

A doctor walks into his room in a matter of minutes, a serious look of his face.

“Kim Dongyoung-ssi, I believe?”

Doyoung nods.

“I’m your doctor. Are you alright? How’s your head?”

“What had happened?”

“A concussion, I believe. You fell and it your head hard; you’ve been in a coma for a week or so.”

“Oh.” Doyoung honestly has no idea what to say. He doesn’t remember.

“Yes, but do not worry, you’ll be in good shape in no time. For now, I’ve prescribed you these medications that you must take twice a day, and also, would you like to watch the television? I heard there’s a good channel that talks about the greatness of the System.” Doyoung doesn’t get a chance to reply. 

After a week or so Doyoung gets discharged with a wave and more prescribed meds. He goes to the pharmacy and leaves with a fresh packet of repressants, then turns a couple of times and reaches his apartment.

It’s cold and grey, and it feels unlived in. Doyoung sighs and turns the apartment on, windows lighting up with an array of seasons and weathers to choose from. Doyoung picks a cloudy day. He places the repressants on his bedside table, and checks the watch. It’s around eight or so in the evening. He eats a canned dinner and after brushing his teeth for two minutes and washing his face three times he hits the hay. He has a long day at work tomorrow. As soon as his face hits the pillows he passes out, and falls into a dreamless sleep.

Working at Neo Inc. is mundane. Doyoung spends his whole day by his huge screen in his small cubicle, typing onto the holographic keyboard. He leaves for lunch at two and goes home at six sharp. It’s a quiet routine. No new things – no problems. But one day, his boss calls him over for a favour.

“Doyoung-ssi,” says Mr. Moon, “You’re a remarkable employee, and it would mean a lot for me if you could dote on this newbie for a while.”

“Yes sir.” Doyoung bows.

“Attaboy!” and Doyoung leaves the one hundredth floor in a music-less elevator ride.

The new employee is waiting for Doyoung by the entrance of the building. Doyoung can tell because he knows every face in their department. He taps the young man on the shoulder.

“Good day. I’m Kim Dongyoung. Pleasure to meet you.” 

“Likewise. Jung Jaehyun.”

They shake hands. Jaehyun has pitch black hair that falls into his forehead, a polite smile and honey eyes. 

“Jung?” Doyoung asks. “ Are you by chance related to the late Confederate Jung?”

Jaehyun shakes his head. “No, we only share surnames, for some reason. It’s a tragedy that he got shot, though. The whole city was mourning for weeks. Have you been to his funeral?”

“No, I have not. I was at the hospital meanwhile it happened. Do you have any idea who’s the Party’s new head?”

“Unfortunately, no. I heard that the Party wanted for his son to take over, but the son went rogue and that didn’t happen. Some say he was involved with his father’s death. Or maybe there was a third party who was responsible for it. That’s about it.”

“Ah, I see.” Doyoung hums. Jaehyun is easy to talk to, he notices. He’s not as uptight as his coworkers, but he’s still polite. The only person who Doyoung talks to sometimes is Johnny, who has a similar personality to Jaehyun. The small talk goes on for a while until Doyoung notices something. It’s regarded as rebellious and seen as an perversion, but on Jaehyun it looks rather pretty. 

“By the way, is that a flower tattoo on your neck?”

Confused, Jaehyun takes out a pocket mirror from his blazer and touches his neck softly, and surely enough, he sees the faintest outline of a blooming flower etched onto his skin in the reflection.

He doesn’t know why, but he smiles.


End file.
